Falling Apart
by Magdelen
Summary: My dark and twisty version of Addison and Derek's relationship. Set in AU Season 2. Addisoncentric. Angst. Motherhood. Depression. Etc. Multiple POVs. Not sympathetic to McDreamy.
1. You're Never in a Good Mood

I have been thinking about this one for long time. Now I'm actually writing it. It's my second chapter by chapter fic and it's going to be pretty interesting. Please review.

Please Note:

a) I don't own Grey's Anatomy or the characters.

b) I named Addison's daughter after Bonny Butler, Scarlett O'Hara's daugther in Gone With the Wind, because in this story, Addison is the same type of mother Scarlett is. She loves her daughter but she just can't handle motherhood very well. Also, I guess it fits with Derek and Addison's ethnic background which I assume is English/ Scotish/ Welsh/ maybe Irish.

P.S. Don't worry, Bonny's not going to fall off a horse and die.

* * *

Chapter One: "You're Never In a Good Mood" 

"Mommy, will you play with me?" Bonny Shepard's voice was almost a whimper. Addison sighed and massaged her aching temples. At seven her daughter was much too old to be whining like that.

"Not right now sweetie. Mommy's not in a very good mood at the moment," she whispered. There was a pile of forms littering the tiny table, _I hate this fucking trailer_, that urgently needed her attention and it seemed she wouldn't be finishing with them any time soon.

"You're _never_ in a good mood," Bonny complained. The neatly typed, officially worded sentences blurred and swam across the pages. Addison blinked tears from her eyes. She was not going to cry in front of her daughter.

"I'm sorry sweetie. What I meant to say was 'Mommy's not in a very good mood to play with you right now.' When daddy gets home I promise we'll do something together but until then I need you to give me some quiet time. Can you do that for me? It'll only be for a few hours. I promise." She was lying of course. She knew for a fact that Derek would not be coming home that evening until well after Bonny fell asleep. If he wasn't working late at the hospital he was almost certainly already twined in the arms of another woman. Her husband was having an affair and he wasn't even trying to hide it but she couldn't confront him about it. She had lost that right.

"Mommy, I'm bored!" Bonny wailed. Addison clenched her fists, dug her manicured nails into her palms to keep from screaming. Her daughter was driving her crazy. Since they had moved to Seattle the girl had become a nightmare, cranky, pathetic and always _needing_, _needing_ attention. She was like a leech Addison couldn't shake off, draining her energy, her patience and always, always demanding more than Addison could give.

_Bonny, please. Please just leave me alone. I want you to go away._

She always felt guilty immediately after thoughts like these. What kind of a mother was she? Bonny was probably scared out of her mind. What must it feel like when you're seven years old and your father disappears in the middle of the night? What must it feel like to leave the only home you've ever known and move thousands of miles away from your school, your friends, your grandparents? What must it feel like to watch your own parents turn into different people in front of you, your father hardly back in your life at all despite the fact that you share a home again, your mother a raw bundle of frayed nerves, your family disintegrating around you?

"I'm sorry sweetheart... I guess these forms can wait."

"Yay!" It broke her heart to see how easily the littlest bit of attention brought light into Bonny's eyes. In New York, that light had been there all the time. Now she hardly saw it and that was her fault. She had destroyed their family. Now, even though a few minutes of attention was enough to spark that light, it wasn't enough to make it last. Because the damage had been done. Nothing was secure any more and when nothing was secure, no matter how much love she showered on her daughter, as soon as she let it slack off, even for a minute, the fear would creep back and Bonny's eyes would brim with questions.

_What if Daddy goes away again? What if there's another fight? What if Mommy closes up again and I can't make her see me? What if things never go back to the way they were? _

The questions seeped from Bonny's eyes and hung constantly above Addison's head. They had to be ignored. Because if she paid them any attention they would worm their way into her heart and eat away the last shred of belief she had left.

She needed that belief. She needed to believe she could make this work, needed to believe she could fix what she had broken. Because if she couldn't believe that then the only thing left would be guilt.


	2. What Happened?

Chapter Two: What Happened?

"I don't wanna go to bed yet," Bonny mumbled in her sleep. She had begged to stay awake until her dad came home, perched on the couch and struggled to hold her eyes open while Addison read to her, but eventually she had given in to slumber.

Addison wearily gathered her daughter in her arms and carried her to her cot at the end of the trailer.

"Good night sweetheart. I love you," she whispered as she tucked her into bed. Bonny was already sleeping too deeply to respond. Addison leaned over and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

It was funny, she thought. You would never expect two people who looked like her and Derek to produce a child who looked like Bonny. You would expect the child of Derek and Addison Shepard to posses striking beauty and Bonny wasn't beautiful. Her long, loose curls were neither vivid red, nor ebony, but a lackluster darkish brown, almost the colour of slate. There was nothing remarkably lovely about her face. The individual features were attractive... but somehow they didn't fit together. Derek's eyes didn't seem so breathtaking beneath Addison's heavy lashes. Bonny's teeth and crooked smile resembled her mother perfectly but didn't quite match with a nose more similar to Derek's. Overall it was a nice face, pretty even, but not beautiful.

Even Bonny's height was not elegant in any way, but the awkward, gangly height Addison remembered being so self-conscious of in childhood. Eventually she would balance out, but only after enduring several years of towering above the rest of her class. It was hard to reconcile the lanky, bony person her daughter was now with the soft, chubby baby she'd held for the first time seven years ago.

"She's beautiful, just like you," Derek had whispered pressing a kiss to one of her drooping eyelids. It had been a difficult delivery and the doctors had eventually resorted to C- section. She was exhausted and a little groggy from the pain meds, not to mention the bizarre experience of her body dragging her through labor without actually getting to finish the process.

"She looks a little like an apricot," she managed to whisper.

It was true, the baby, like most newborns was wrinkly. Her skin was slightly orange and her fine, silky hair, coppery gold. Still it seemed strange that she was comparing her daughter to a dried fruit. Derek laughed a little.

"She does look like an apricot," he agreed. "But mostly she looks just like you. She couldn't be more beautiful."

"Well she probably won't look like me forever. She'll probably look completely different in a few days."

"She'll still be the most beautiful baby in the world."

"Oh course she will. She's our daughter."

"_Our daughter_. You, me and _our daughter_. This is so amazing. I love you so much Addison."

There was a time when he couldn't go ten minutes without saying it. Especially during her pregnancy, he was always letting her know that he loved her, that she was beautiful. He was happier than she'd ever seen him and he poured that love and happiness into her.

He'd always wanted children. She had too, just not right away. So they'd waited and after three years of marriage she was ready and they were both on the same page and for a while everything was good.

Maybe it was a few years, maybe only a few days but it felt like a moment. For one beautiful, miraculous, everlasting moment, everything was perfect.

_What happened?_


	3. Why am I Even Here?

Chapter Three: Why am I Even Here?

Addison stifled a yawn and checked the time. One o'clock, and still Derek wasn't home. One o'clock, and still she was only halfway through her paperwork. She had to finish tonight. _If I finish by two I can still get five hours of sleep. _

She'd become used to making these calculations, used to functioning on too little sleep. It was part of her life now, working late into the night, filling out whatever forms she hadn't had time for during the day. She simply couldn't spend as much time at the hospital as she used to. Someone had to look after Bonny and Derek had his new position as head of neurology to occupy his time. He also had Meredith. Addison wasn't sure who she felt sorrier for, the girlfriend or herself, but she knew who Derek preferred.

_Then why am I even here? _If she and Bonny were still in New York, things would be so much easier.

In New York she'd had Derek's sister to baby-sit twice a week. In New York she'd had friends and family and a house with rooms and doors with locks on them and actual privacy. In Seattle she had a trailer, so small there was nowhere to escape the sound of her daughter's voice, a trailer barely big enough for one person let alone the three of them. It was driving her crazy. She hated being boxed up in something so tiny, hated being so far from the rest of the world, hated spending so much time in such close proximity to her daughter. They were so far out in the middle of nowhere that she couldn't even consider a nanny.

In New York she'd had a career. She'd been flawless, precise, at the top of her game. She'd been the go-to neonatal surgeon on the east coast. In Seattle she was nobody. She was practically a stay at home mother. She was the best neonatal surgeon Seattle Grace had seen in years but more often than not she had to back down from operating. In her specialty surgeries were impromptu by nature and the calls always seemed to come in the middle of the night, when she was alone at the trailer with Bonny, leaving her no option but to step aside and let someone else take her place. It wasn't fair, not to her and not to the patients. Every patient deserved the best and she _was_ the best... But she wouldn't be for much longer if this kept up. She could feel her edge slipping away.

There were times she couldn't believe Derek was putting her through this, couldn't believe she was _letting_ him put her through this. The frustration, the loneliness, the way he practically flaunted his affair, nothing was worth this much punishment. She didn't deserve this.

There were times she thought that this was _exactly_ what she deserved.

There were times she hated Derek. He had taken her back, probably more out of obligation, and obligation to Bonny not to her, than out of an actual desire to make things work. Now he was punishing her. Either he simply didn't realize how much living like this killed her or he actually enjoyed seeing her suffer. She wasn't sure which idea she preferred.

There were times, like tonight, when her heart broke for Bonny and she hated Derek so much she wanted to scream. Couldn't he see what his absence was doing to his daughter?

Sometimes her heart broke for Bonny. Sometimes she hated her more than she hated Derek... more than she hated herself, because there were times when the only reason she stayed with Derek was because she couldn't leave and legally take Bonny with her. It was Bonny who kept her in Seattle. Now that she and Derek were back together, on paper at least, she was stuck. Unless she was prepared to leave her daughter behind.

There were times when she couldn't imagine leaving. There were times she loved Derek so much that the thought of a lifetime without him tore her to pieces and she wanted to fall on her knees and beg him for another chance.

There were times when she just wanted to give up.

And once, while Bonny and Derek were both sleeping she had dressed and done her makeup, slipped a credit card into her pocket and sat in her car for two hours unable to start the engine and drive away because something inside that trailer pulled at her heart, holding her back by a thin but unbreakable thread.

Love. That's what it really came down to. That's why, no matter how much easier it would be, she couldn't leave Seattle. She loved Bonny, resented her but loved her. She loved Derek too although she probably could have left him if there was no child involved. Maybe that wasn't true. Maybe she would have stayed. It was hard to say. Her feelings for Derek seemed to fluctuate between painful, devastating love and something close to hatred.


	4. Complicated

Chapter Four: Complicated

Derek Shepard pulled up at the trailer he shared with his wife and daughter at three o'clock in the morning. He couldn't believe he'd let it get this late, but time seemed to glide by so quickly when he was with Meredith. He slipped quietly inside the trailer and instantly started feeling guilty.

Derek believed love should be simple. True love should make you feel happy. It shouldn't hurt. It should be easy. Being with Meredith, had made him the happiest he'd been in years. It was simple, and easy... until Addison showed up.

When Addison showed up things became complicated. It didn't have anything to do with the destruction of his relationship with Meredith because nothing had been destroyed. Love like he had with Meredith was strong enough to survive a few difficulties. It was strong enough to survive without a definition. They never asked what they were to each other. She didn't need to be his 'girlfriend'. No, the complications didn't come from Meredith, but from Addison, whose very presence stirred up a cloud of bewildering emotions.

Meredith was pure, simple, a breath of fresh air.

He didn't allow himself to remember that he'd once used adjectives like those to describe his wife. Addison was complicated.

Addison and Meredith were different down to the minutest of details. Meredith could show up at the hospital wearing blue jeans, with her hair in a pony-tail and a bandaid on her forehead and not feel self-conscious. Addison wore a pencil skirt and heels even to spend the entire day home with Bonny and did her makeup too, leaving smudges of lipstick on the coffee cups. Meredith would never do something likethat.

And there were less superficial differences as well. Derek was amazed at how open Meredith could be with her feelings. She actually said what she meant. When he and Meredith talked things always seemed clearer afterwards while with Addison conversations spiraled around issues only stated through innuendo and almost always ended in her outright refusal to communicate. Since she and Bonny had joined him in the trailer Addison had only closed up even more.

But the main difference between Meredith and Addison was the way each made him feel. Things between he and Meredith were simple. They were in love and that was it. With Addison, nothing was simple. There was love... on both sides, although it was easier to pretend there wasn't, but there was so much more getting in the way, jealousy, anger, guilt. He was surprised at how guilty Addison could make him feel. It was almost a catch-22. He tried to avoided it, staying away as much as possible, which only made him feel worse when he finally did go home.

Tonight he was later than usual. Addison was asleep at the table surrounded by piles of paperwork, still clutching her pen. Bonny was tucked in bed, sleeping soundly. At least things were good between he and his daughter. He'd worried when he left New York that he would loose his daughter's trust but by her third day in Seattle things had returned to normal between them. It was amazing how adaptable kids were, how quickly they bounced back. He kissed his daughter on the forehead, carefully so he wouldn't wake her, then went to take care of his wife.

Addison looked so peaceful sleeping. He wished he didn't have to wake her. He hadn't seen her this relaxed since New York.

Seeing her like this he could almost forget the guilt and the anger and remember how much he loved his wife. Maybe if he was really careful he wouldn't wake her up.

Gently, he pulled off her shoes and gathered her in his arms. He felt a fresh pang of guilt at how light she was. He'd noticed she wasn't eating properly but hadn't said anything about it. How much weight had she lost? He lay her down on the bed and started to unbutton her shirt, almost afraid of what he might see. He imagined a skeleton, skin and bones, a poster child for anorexia but it wasn't that bad. Addison was thin, too thin, but not waifish. Still, she must have dropped ten pounds since arriving in Seattle and on a woman already as slim as Addison was, ten pounds was too much. It wasn't healthy.

"Oh, Addison..." her name slipped over his lips unintentionally and he was surprised at the depth of emotion in his voice.

Her eyes fluttered open.

"Derek?"

He immediately felt guilty for waking her.

"Shhh. Go back to sleep."

Addison was already dragging herself into a sitting position.

"What time is it?"

"Three o'clock. Go back to sleep." Instead she started re-buttoning her shirt.

"I have to finish... I have work to finish."

"You can finish tomorrow. You're working too hard, Addison. Maybe you should take a day off."

"Derek, I just started. It's hardly been a month. I can't start taking days off now. Why don't you go to sleep. I'll be there in a minute. I'm almost finished."

"I'll sit with you then."

She didn't answer, just tiptoed to the table and started working. He attempted starting a conversation.

"What did you and Bonny do today?"

"I don't know. Kid stuff. They're learning about the ocean at her school so we talked about that for a while. I would have finished these forms earlier but she was up until twelve o'clock."

"Why do you let her do that? She's going to be impossible in the morning."

"She wanted to see you. She misses you, Derek."

She didn't shout. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper. She didn't sound angry, but she didn't have to. The words were powerful enough.

"I'm trying," was all he could manage to reply.

Addison didn't bother to argue. Maybe she was too tired. Maybe she just didn't see the point. They both knew he wasn't trying as hard as he could be.

* * *

Just a warning for fans of Derek: I put this chapter from his perspective because I don't believe in purely evil characters and I wanted to show a little bit of his perspective before he starts doing some reall horrible stuff.

Oh and I wanted people to understand that he is an idiot because Meredith is not as simple as he thinks she is and his daughter is obviously not going to suddenly be fine and wonderful just because her parents are back together.

Oh and I wanted to show that he's confused and doesn't know what his feelings towards Addison are and he's confused because he thinks he can stay married to Addison and still be with Meredith and everyone will be fine with that.

Obviously he's an idiot and for the rest of the story he will be no one's knight in shining whatever so just be prepared...


	5. Can't Deal with it Tonight

Chapter Five: Can't Deal with it Tonight

"Mommy, you're not helping me!"

"I can't do it for you Bonny! You have to learn to do it yourself!" Addison took a deep breath and tried to calm her voice. "O.k. What does twelve divided by four equal?"

"I don't know!" Tears of frustration welled in Bonny's eyes.

Addison sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to drive away the migraine swelling in her brain.

"Yes, you do know." Each word was a struggle_. Don't yell. Don't cry. Just stay calm. _ "Bonny, we just did this one five minutes ago. Twelve divided by four is three, remember?"

"But why?"

"It just is. Look, I don't know how else to explain this to you. You just have to memorize it. O.k?"

"Why? Why is it three?" Bonny whined. Addison fought the urge to plug her ears, the desperate need to prevent her daughter's voice from entering her head and chipping away at her sanity.

"Because that's just how it works."

"No, it's not!"

"Don't start." The shred of authority she tried to inject into her voice did little to mask the fact that she was pleading with her daughter, begging her not to throw a tantrum.

_Please, Bonny. I have a headache. I got fours hours of sleep last night. I can't handle this right now. Tomorrow you can scream and cry as much as you want, but I just can't deal with it tonight._

The crunch of tires on gravel interrupted her thoughts and she felt relief wash over her as Derek entered the trailer.

"Hi. I'm home."

"Daddy!" Bonny flung herself into her father's arms.

"Hey, pumpkin. What are you and mommy up to tonight?"

"I hate homework," Bonny replied and buried her face in Derek's shoulder, her small fingers curling tightly around the fabric of his jacket.

"There is no way they should be teaching division in first grade," Addison sighed.

Derek nodded sympathetically.

"Here. Why don't I help with the homework and you can have a rest? O.k?"

"Thank you." Addison whispered tiredly.

She took a glass of water and a bottle of Advil from the kitchen and walked the few steps to the opposite end of their home. In the trailer, "having a rest," meant lying in bed with no walls and only a few feet of space to separate you and the other members of the family.

Addison curled on her side in the fetal position and watched Derek help Bonny with her homework. He took her on his lap and calmly explained the process of division to her using a roll of pennies to illustrate. Bonny seemed to grasp it quite quickly, without shouting or tears. It had always amazed her, how easily Derek could calm Bonny's temper. As soon as her father entered the room Bonny's bad moods would evaporate.

_Still the model father. He doesn't even have to try. Half the time he's not even here and he's still a better parent then I am. _

Addison sometimes wondered if the C-section had deprived her of some sort of metaphysical connection with her daughter, some connection that could only be established through a natural birth. Even in New York parenting had been a struggle for her, but for Derek it seemed to come naturally.

There was an almost visible connection between her husband and her daughter that she witnessed in these rare moments they spent together. Derek seemed to have Bonny's trust, her unconditional love and devotion. Not even his disappearance and prolonged absence seemed to have weakened the bond he shared with Bonny. She on the other hand was still working to rebuild that bond with her child and it hardly seemed like she was making progress.

Bonny's trust in her seemed fragile enough to break at any moment. She often caught her daughter watching her nervously, as if she was afraid that her mother might suddenly disappear. Bonny never watched Derek, who had actually left, picked up and physically moved across the country, like that. The moment she and Bonny arrived in Seattle, Derek was instantly forgiven. She couldn't really blame her daughter for that. Derek was still much the same man he had been in New York, the man who instantly inspired trust.

She on the other hand...

_Even if you're physically present, you can still disappear._

She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, attempting to stretch the aches out of her back. The headache continued to expand inside her skull. She swallowed another Advil.

Derek left Bonny to finish her homework alone, the roll of pennies handy if she needed it, and settled next to Addison on the bed.

"Headache?"

She nodded.

"What have you had to eat today?"

"Bonny had some corn-flakes and some peanut butter and jam sandwiches. I didn't really feel like anything."

His face twitched into an involuntary expression of concern.

"Do you want me to cook you something?" he offered.

"I'm not really hungry."

"You should eat something. That's not healthy." He paused a moment before adding,

"How much do you think you weigh?"

"I don't know. I was one-forty in New York." That was a lie. Even in New York she'd been under-weight, one hundred and thirty-five pounds, though given her height, she should have been _at_ _least_ one-forty. Derek hadn't noticed.

"It's probably a little less now. I think it's because of the new job. I'm under more stress than usual."

"If I make you some pasta will you eat it?"

"O.k."

She stayed curled on her side in bed while he cooked and washed the dishes and tucked Bonny in for the night. Then he sat beside her and watched her eat a few mouthfuls of pasta. Half way through the plate she stopped and flatly asked him,

"Why are you home so early tonight?"

He shifted uncomfortably beside her. "I'm just stopping in for a few hours. I actually have to get back to the hospital pretty soon."

"Oh." She gingerly set the plate on the floor. Her meager appetite suddenly vanished. "Will you be back later or..."

"I have an early surgery tomorrow. I'll probably just crash in an on-call room."

"O.k." She contemplated saying something, 'Have fun a _the hospital_,' maybe, but there wasn't really any point. "I think I'll just go to sleep."

He nodded.

She returned to her former position, curled in a tight ball. This time with her back to him.

He left the trailer without another word to her.

She heard him start his car and drive away, and tried not to think about where he was going. Sometime later she succumbed to exhaustion and finally fell asleep.


	6. Slipping Away

Chapter Six: Slipping Away

In New York, Bonny Shepard was never scared of anything. Most of the time she was happy. She cried now and then or threw temper tantrums when she didn't get what she wanted. But she was never scared and she never asked questions. She didn't have any reason to.

Her life was pretty perfect and as far as she was concerned that was how it would stay. She believed in this with the confidence of a child who had never experienced the frightening realities of life. She was content. Secure in her ignorance. Why ask questions? She already had the answer to the most important one. She knew what was going to happen next. Tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, everything would stay the same. She would have the best mom in the world and the best dad in the world and be the happiest kid in the world for the rest of her life. Things would be perfect forever.

Then one night she woke up to the sound of her parents shouting. It had happened once or twice before and had never really bothered her. There was room for a little shouting inside of perfect, and things were always back to normal in the morning. But this time was different. This time, for the first time in her life, Bonny was truly scared.

She couldn't make out exactly what they said but her dad sounded angry and her mom sounded scared. She kept saying she was sorry and that's what was really scary, because her mother never apologized. When her parents fought it was always her mother who was angry and her father who apologized and promised to make work his number _two_ priority, whatever that meant, and then things went back to perfect. Besides, her parents hadn't fought in a very long time and it had never been like this.

"Get out of my house!" her father was shouting and it was so loud Bonny wanted to plug her ears and crawl back under the covers but instead she crawled to the top of the stairs and watched. She watched her father pry her mother's hands off the banister and drag her across the floor. She wanted to cover her eyes but couldn't. She watched her father push her mother out of the house and slam the door behind her. She wanted to scream but could only stare silently and listen to her mother crying outside in the rain. She'd never heard her mother cry. It was terrible. Finally her father opened the door and let her mother back inside, but he didn't let her hug him and he didn't say he was sorry. Instead he said,

"You stay. I'll go," and Bonny's world came crashing down around her.

Her vision of everlasting perfection did not involve her father going anywhere. That wasn't how things worked. Things would not stay the same if her father left. If her father left things would be hugely and irreversibly different.

There was a moment of sickening quiet. Everything went very still and so silent that Bonny was sure her parents would hear the pounding of her heart. Then her mother drew a ragged breath and said very calmly,

"If you go now, we will never get through this. If you go now, we don't have a chance. We can fix this. Look at me. We can fix this. We're Derek and Addison."

"I can't look at you anymore. I look at you and I feel nauseous. We're not Derek and Addison anymore," her father said and then he left.

Her mother sat down at the bottom of the stairs and everything was very quiet. Then Bonny realized she had tears on her face and went down the stairs so her mother could make her stop crying.

But her mother didn't even look at her. She only stared at the door. So Bonny got onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her neck and her mother lifted her arms and put them around Bonny, like a hug, but a hug with no comfort in it and Bonny huddled in her mother's empty embrace and cried herself to sleep for the first time in her life.

The next day was terrible. Bonny woke up lying on the floor. Her mother was sitting at the bottom of the stairs staring at nothing. No matter what Bonny did she couldn't get her attention. Crying didn't work. Neither did yelling. Even when she put her face next to her mother's ear and screamed her mother didn't blink. So Bonny slammed the front door as hard as she could, several times, and when her mother didn't react she took the heaviest thing she could throw, a granite bookend, and used it to smash the front window. Finally she approached her mother and slapped her across the face as hard as she could.

He mother started to cry. She cried without making any noise. With tears streaming down her face she went to the kitchen got a broom and dustpan and silently swept up the broken glass. Then Bonny asked when her dad was coming home and her mother fell onto the floor and started sobbing.

"Stop crying!" Bonny tried to pull her mother off the floor but she was too heavy so she lay down beside her and her mother pulled her close and hugged her very tight and told her she was sorry again and again. Then Bonny started to cry and they both stayed like that until her dad's friend Mark came and picked them up and let her blow her nose on his sleeve and kissed her mother until she stopped crying.

They went to live with Mark for two months and then they moved to Seattle. Now they lived in a trailer with her dad and Bonny didn't know what was going to happen next.

Her dad was still the same dad she remembered from New York, but sometimes she didn't see him for days at a time and she got scared that he wasn't coming back.

Worse was her mother. Her mother was different. In New York, she had been vibrant, unstoppable, a force of nature. Now she was cold. She was still unstoppable but she seemed to move forward without thinking, like a machine. And from time to time Bonny would see her starting to slip away, that blank, glazed over look creeping back into her eyes.

That look scared Bonny more than anything. She was sure it foreshadowed another disappearance, sure it was a warning that her mother was about to close up again. Fearing a repeat of what had happened the day after her father left, she threw fits, screamed and whined at the slightest hint of emptiness in her mother's eyes, desperate for her attention, desperate to keep her from slipping away again.


	7. She'd Dreamed the House First

Chapter Seven: She'd Dreamed the House First

Somehow things went bad.

Or maybe they'd been bad to begin with, only it took her a while to realize it. She had the charming, handsome husband, the beautiful baby and the expensive house. The great career lay ahead of her. She had it all. But sometimes it didn't feel right. Sometimes she would catch herself wondering...

_Am I happy? _

_Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're happy. Your life is perfect._

_But still..._

And every now and then something would happen. Something that indicated not only that things were _not _perfect, but that something was actually wrong.

She spent an entire day curled on the couch crying, ignoring the baby's wails, and when she realized Derek would be home soon frantically tidied herself up, greeted him with a smile and told him she'd had a wonderful day.

Bonny was two and Derek found her huddled on the floor by her daughter's bed in the middle of the night, staring at the rise and fall of her abdomen as she breathed. Groggy and half asleep, he asked her what she was doing and she responded, in a small, frightened voice,

"If anything ever happens to her, I'll die."

He asked if she was okay and his own voice conveyed more confusion than worry.

_He doesn't get it. He doesn't understand at all._

Obvious she wasn't okay, but he had a strange look on his face, as if he was slightly amused by the situation, so she answered,

"I'm fine. You should go back to sleep," and he obliged.

Soon the charming, handsome husband's career took off and he started giving more to his job. Not time so much as attention. Derek was very good about budgeting his time, doing it all, being the great husband, the great father and the up-and-coming neurosurgeon. If anything he seemed more attentive, always ready to take his daughter to the park, take his wife out to dinner. Bonny loved him for it. Addison wondered how much he really meant any of it.

Because it sometimes seemed like Derek read bedtime stories, and bought flowers and said "I love you" the same way he cut and sutured and ran post op-analyses, like a machine, like a _surgeon, _like a man for whom it had all become routine.

And she was part of the routine. Bonny too. They all had a role to play. Derek was the great guy, the knight in shining armor, the career man who liked to barbeque and teach little kids how to play catch. She was the beautiful, smiling wife, who was good at her job, of course not as good as her husband, and who laughed at her husband's bosses' jokes.

She was _supposed_ to be the perfect mother, and Bonny was _supposed_ to be the perfect child.

But the beautiful baby grew into a daughter with spirit, and a will of her own. She was spoiled, used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted, and ready to fight to get her own way. She was certainly not used to sharing and when she started to "make friends" with the other children in the neighborhood there were countless incidents of hair pulling, biting, and screaming fits in which Bonny was usually the aggressor.

Derek was no disciplinarian. Addison was expected to deal with all of this, expected to know how to deal with it, although she was an only child from a small family and hadn't had the experience with siblings and cousins and nieces and nephews that Derek had.

So she gave in too easily, or lost her cool, or was inconsistent, and ultimately only encouraged Bonny's temper. But although this angry little person was certainly harder to control than a sweet, smiling baby, Addison was secretly pleased. Bonny reminded her of her own four-year-old self fighting tooth and nail to be allowed to stay outside past her bed time. She wondered what happened to that person. If she wanted to scream, if she wanted to cry, would she still be able to do it?

So no, she didn't mind the tantrums. What she couldn't stand was the house.

Ironically, as a teenaged band geek with braces, hating her present and imagining how much better her future was going to be, she'd dreamed the house first. Before she wanted the husband and the career, and back when she was convinced she would _never_ want children, she had wanted a Central Park Brownstone.

But by the time Bonny was three she couldn't wait to get away from it, needed to escape that house so badly that she insisted Bonny start preschool a year early so she would be able to get back to work full time. Derek had been against it but she had refused to back down. She had a right to a career and a woman could be a professional _and_ a mother, and didn't they both believe in that?

She knew Derek would not understand that her real reason for wanting to get back to work was that the house, with it's "modern but welcoming" decor and its stain resistant microfibre sofas made her feel like everything below her skin was slowly going numb.

Work helped, and she threw herself into it. Like Derek, she began to make a name for herself and she found she liked success. But success had its price. Because she was successful, and because she and Derek were the power-couple, and because she had the expensive house and the killer wardrobe, people assumed she was happy. And she soon realized it wasn't an option to tell them, "No, I'm not." No one would believe her.

So by the time Bonny started Kindergarten she'd gotten used to putting on a mask. Become accustomed to the concerted daily effort to wear a smile. Become accustomed to crying quietly in the bathroom. Become accustomed to nightmares.

_The house was falling apart, disintegrating into razor-sharp fragments, and she had to get down to the basement. Somehow, if she could just get down to the basement she would be safe. But the steps were rotting and collapsing under her feet and it was dark in the basement and she was afraid to go down._

She woke from this dream, shivering and drenched in sweat at least twice a month and stole silently to the bathroom to splash cold water over her face. Derek never noticed.

Neither did Bonny. Or maybe she noticed but didn't understand. Because more than once, after drying her tears, she'd slip into her daughter's bed and find herself whispering nonsensical apologies.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I wish I was a better mother," and Bonny, more asleep than awake, would grumble and respond,

"But you're the best mommy in the whole world," and her daughter's sincerity, her obvious belief in this statement, would half comfort her, half break her heart.

_You're the best mommy in the whole world._

_How do I live up to that?_

Bonny never seemed to remember these conversations in the morning.

So Derek didn't notice and Bonny didn't understand.

But Mark seemed to do both. Mark who didn't think or care about anyone other than himself. Mark who was self absorbed and arrogant and at the same time didn't care what other people thought of him. Mark who was the man-whore to Derek's knight in shining armor. The element of danger to contrast Derek's non-threatening good looks.

He seemed to notice the unhappiness she'd become so good at concealing. Seemed to be able to say with no more than a second, a blue-grey moment, of eye contact,

_I see you. You're miserable._

And he seemed to _understand._

By the things he said to her, half joking, half dead serious, she could tell he _knew _just how badly she wanted to escape.

"You know, I've always wondered what a girl like you is doing married to a guy like Derek. I mean, the guy's my best friend but...

"Why don't you and me rent a car -something sexy, a sexy, little, red convertible -and just drive the hell out of this town? Lets go to Vegas.

"Don't you ever want to just get away from it all? Leave the whole damn thing behind?"

"I don't think I could do that."

"I think you could."

Marks lips were already on her neck and his hands were already on the buttons of her shirt before she managed to whisper,

"This is a bad idea."

"Yeah." His lips never left her skin. "This is a pretty bad idea."

"You know... I don't really care,"

And kissed him hard, bruising her lips against his, pulling him up the stairs.

And it all happened so fast. And she had never seen Derek so angry.

Not even when...

But this was different. Other people were implicated in this. This was betrayal that could not be kept secret. This would taint _his_ image.

And in the middle of her panic she realized that that was what he was really angry about. Even if he wasn't aware of it himself, she knew. He was afraid this would make him look bad.

And ridiculous things were pouring out of her mouth.

_We can fix this._

_We're Derek and Addison._

_You have to give me a chance to show you how sorry I am._

And she wasn't even sure she wanted the chance. But she knew this was too fast. And then he was gone. And she was terrified. Because wearing the mask, the beautiful, smiling wife who was good at her job, though not as good as her husband, and who laughed at her husband's bosses' jokes, was something she knew how to do.

And taking that mask off was not something she was ready to do.

And taking care of her daughter without Derek hovering in the background was something she wasn't sure she'd ever be ready to do.

So she let herself breakdown. In front of Bonny. She broke down when her daughter needed her most.

Then two wonderful, terrible months with Mark.

Mark who made her herself again. Mark who suggested she flush her wedding rings down the toilette and went for long walks whenever she fought with her daughter.

Mark who was not very good at monogamy.

Two months spent answering,

"I don't know so stop asking me," whenever Bonny whined,

"When is Daddy coming back?"

And that was what she really regretted.

Bonny who had screeched and hollered and yelled all her life, but never once whined, became a whiner.

And Addison got in the habit of plugging her ears.

Then two months and one too many inquiries about her father from Bonny and the guilt caught up with her. The vicious highs and lows became too much to handle.

So she tracked Derek down. She sought out the life that killed her from the inside out and asked for it back. She handed him divorce papers they both knew he wouldn't sign and he took her back because she was his wife. Because she was the mother of his child.

And because he was McDreamy, mysterious and noble with a forbidden love to go along with his new persona. And somehow taking her back made him look like the good guy.

And Mark became one more thing they didn't talk about.

One more thing Addison had to feel guilty about.

* * *

Ooh, mystery.

Plot is coming... Sort of.

Review.


	8. PassiveAggressive

Hmm. This chapter should probably be rated "M". But since the rest of the story has been "T", I don't want to change the whole thing over, so I'll just include a little disclaimer here:

Be careful.

* * *

Chapter Eight: Passive/Aggressive

It was nine thirty in the evening when Derek got home and Bonny was actually asleep for once. There was a pan of stir-fried vegetables on the stove. He guessed Addison had felt like cooking tonight. And there were two dirty bowls in the sink, two sets of chopsticks. Another good sign.

Maybe, if Addison was in a good mood tonight, they could...

He wanted to have sex with his wife. Of course he wanted to. It was just... _complicated_.

For one thing, he wasn't sure if he was _supposed _to want to. Addison had cheated on him, with his _best friend_. Was he supposed to just forgive her for that? Was he supposed to be able to look at her without seeing it in front of him all over again, without seeing Mark's hand prints smeared all over her?

And then there was Meredith.

But Addison was his _wife _and the mother of his _daughter. _That had to count for something. And she was beautiful, in a way that made Meredith seem like a skinny child, drowning under sheets in a bed that was too big for her, in a house that was more her mother's than her own.

And that thought reminded him of moving into the Brownstone with Addison. She'd seemed frail and beautiful surround by all that house, the house that would soon shelter their family. She was pregnant at the time and barely able to keep her food down. Her hands looked thin and weak against the swell of her belly and she was pale as a result of gestational anemia. He remembered insisting she rest in the living room while he unpacked the kitchen and made chicken and rice, one of the few foods that wouldn't nauseate her. He remembered taking care of her, remembered thinking that were his father alive, he would be proud of him, a grown man, successful and a homeowner, about to be a father himself.

He remembered ignoring Addison's protests that she was perfectly capable of walking on her own, and carrying her up the stairs to their bedroom, remembered making love to her slowly and carefully, remembered telling her she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Even now, after Mark, even now, ten pounds under-weight, Addison's body was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. But it was a beauty that turned him cold. If he could just push past the thought that someone else had been inside her and had left something of himself there, if he could just push past the thought that sent chills down his spine whenever he glimpsed her naked skin...

Not that that happened very often anymore. Addison seemed to be avoiding undressing in front of him. He'd hardly seen her body since she and Bonny arrived in Seattle, and they lived in a god-damned _trailer_. There wasn't exactly room to hide from one another.

He remembered that night he'd carried her to bed, after finding her asleep among her papers, and how quickly she'd drawn her shirt around herself and buttoned it when he'd woken her.

And he'd often come home to find Addison already asleep in Bonny's bed, curled into the space between their daughter and the wall, as if they'd formed some private girls' club to exclude him from while he was gone from New York. It was like some sort of passive aggressive statement.

_Hands off, Derek. Don't even think about it._

And once he'd come home late, after seeing Meredith, and had automatically leaned over to kiss Addison, who had jerked her head away and told him,

"I'm tired. Come home at a decent hour and you can kiss me," the accusations she left unvoiced burning in her clear, blue eyes.

All this while they were supposed to be "making it work". They were going to have to have sex eventually, rip the stitches.

Wasn't tonight was as good a night as any?

He crossed the floor to where his wife lay sleeping lightly, a book left open bedside her with her glasses perched on top of it. He placed them carefully on the bedside table.

Addison's eyes snapped wide open as he ran his hands up her legs. Big, blue eyes, watching him suspiciously as he began to unbutton her shirt. He slid the silk off her shoulders and mechanically unhooked her bra. Addison shivered. He gently pushed her back onto the bed and when she opened her mouth to speak put a finger to her lips and whispered,

"Shhh. Lie down."

He removed her skirt and peeled off her nylons, left her panties in place as he hastily stripped down to his boxers.

Two thin layers of cloth rustled between them as he climbed on top of her, positioning himself between her legs. She exhaled as he settled on her stomach and his weight forced the air from her lungs.

She let her head roll to the side, exposing her neck to him and fixed her eyes on the wall. His lips and teeth found her skin and she swallowed. He tried to ignore the fact that her hands were lying motionless on his lower back as his own roamed over her body. Addison had always been passive in bed but _this... _

He rubbed himself against her, struggled for some friction. He'd never had problems in this area before. He changed he angle of his hips, ground against her more forcefully. Still nothing. His fingers dug into her skin, hard enough to bruise and she whimpered. It was the first noise she'd made all evening but as soon as the sound was out of her mouth she clamped her lips shut and continued to stare past him.

Finally after several minutes of grunting and chafing he gave up, sighed and rolled away, breathing heavily. They hadn't even progressed to the point of taking off their underwear.

Addison's back was immediately presented to him as she rolled onto her side and hugged her knees to her chest. He reached out to touch her but let his hand drop before his fingers met her skin.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," Addison whispered, her voice low and flat, and he couldn't help but feel she was accusing him of something.

"You didn't really do that much either," he hissed.

Addison sighed.

"I said it's fine, Derek."

And the lack of emotion in her voice set his teeth on edge. He slid towards her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Pulling her against him, forcing skin on skin contact, he felt her body tense in his arms.

"Why'd you do it," he whispered into her hair and she flinched. He savoured the reaction, noticed her pulse quicken and her breathing grow shallow.

"Mark or the other it?" she whispered.

"The other it."

She sighed.

"Derek, I really don't want to talk about that right now."

"Fine." He tightened his arms around her, ignoring her tense and trembling muscles. "Night."

She didn't respond, but the tightening of her stomach under his hands let him know he'd affected her. Satisfied with that he allowed himself to drift to sleep.

* * *

Wow. Derek is el Creepo. He seems to like his women fail and helpless. Also, Addison's _body_is the most beautiful _thing _he's ever seen. And failing dear, dead Dad in the manhood department prompts even more creepy behavior. Yek. Creeeeeeeeeeep. That is all. 

Oh, and review. I'd love to hear people's guesses on what "the other it" Addison did is.


	9. Appointment

Chapter Nine: Appointment

Bonny trotted along side her mother, struggling to keep pace with Addison's determined stride. She eventually fell into a rhythm of three big steps for every two clicks of her mother's heels against the linoleum.

The floor was shiney, slippery and grey. Bonny remembered it from when she had first come to Seattle with her mother.

They were in the airport. She knew from recognizing the floor and the men and women in navy blue uniforms and from reading the sign in the parking lot, "Seattle-Tacoma International Airport," with a picture of a plane on it in case someone didn't know how to read as good as she did.

Inside there were lots more signs, too many to read when her mother was walking so fast, even if she had known all the big words. That was okay. She knew the important one was "Security". That was where you should go if you got lost and someone would use the intercom to call your parents. Other signs said "Arrivals" and those were planes that were coming to the airport, and "Departures", the ones that were going.

Her mother stopped in front of these signs and started to read them. Bonny guessed she was looking for what plane she wanted to get on and asked where they were going.

"Nowhere," her mother replied, taking Bonny's hand and leading her towards a bench. They sat down and her mother pulled her cell phone out of her purse and handed it to Bonny incase she wanted to play the games. That meant they were going to be there for a while because her mom's cell phone was usually off limits.

Except today was not a usual day. On a usual day her mother didn't have time to sit on a bench in the airport. On a usual day her mother picked her up from school and they drove to the trailer and her mother made dinner while Bonny played and did homework.

Or some days, if she was lucky, her mother would say,

"Just eat what you want," and then Bonny would make Pop-tarts and microwave popcorn and after dinner her mother would read her stories and tuck her into bed.

But today her mother came to school in her black Prada coat and black Prada heels and hurried her into the car. Her mother stared straight ahead as she drove and didn't say anything and her knuckled were white on the steering wheel. Whenever Bonny asked,

"Where are we going," her mother said

"Nowhere."

And now they were sitting on a bench in the airport. Waiting.

Bonny played five games of snake and five games of space ship and then asked her mother,

"Are we waiting for a plane?"

Her mother nodded.

"Which plane?"

"A plane from New York."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

Her mother was not in a good mood today. Neither was her father. Both her parents had been tense and irritable that morning. They'd carried on a whispered argument when they thought Bonny wasn't paying attention. She had watched her Fruit Loops turn the milk grey and listened to them.

"Derek, I said I don't want to talk about it."

"You never want to talk about it! You didn't want to talk back then either!"

"I talked! I told you I'd made the appointment. I told you I wanted you to come with me."

"What was I supposed to do, Addison? Hold your hand? You knew I didn't support the decision. We could have at least discussed it!"

"I tried to discuss it! You wouldn't listen!"

"Well if you'd just..."

"If I'd _what, _Derek? What was I supposed to do? Do you have any idea how hard I had to work after Bonny? Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to reestablish myself as a surgeon? I didn't _want _another baby."

This conversation had confused and frightened Bonny. What was this mysterious appointment? Did her parents have another baby somewhere that they weren't telling her about? What if her mother decided she no longer wanted Bonny? Maybe the other baby was on the flight from New York and her mother wanted to switch one child for the other.

A woman's voice came on the intercom and said,

"Flight 269, New York to Seattle, now arriving gate S-five."

Bonny snatched her mother's hand.

They walked to gate S-five. Bonny clung tight to her mother and scanned the crowd for infants or young children. There were none. She felt a little better. Then she saw a familiar leather jacket edging towards them through the swarm of people. She sighed.

It was just Mark.

He was using his big shoulders to cut through the crowd and make his way towards them. He dropped his carry-on at her mother's feet, leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. Then he pulled back, put his hands on her mother's hips and grinned, flashing all his big white teeth. Like boy gorillas did when they wanted to scare other boy gorillas who might be watching.

"So, do I get a smile?" he asked her mother.

Her mother pursed her lips.

"Well, at least I know _someone _here'shappy to see me," Mark said and knelt down in front of Bonny. Bonny smiled so wide her cheeks hurt, barring her own small white teeth. There was a gap where one had fallen out the week before. Mark gave her a dollar.

Then they went to a hotel.

Her mother drove. Mark sat in the front and watched her mother. Bonny mostly looked out the widow. Her mother looked straight ahead.

When they go to the suite there was a T.V. Her mother turned it on and said,

"Look Bonny, Crocodile Hunter. You like that program right?"

Bonny said she did.

Mark was standing behind her mother with his hands on her shoulders. Her mother was tall but next to Mark she looked fragile. Her slight, pale shoulders were all swallowed up in his hands. Mark had big hands. He could wrap his fingers all the way around the top part of her mother's arm. Her mother's entire fist disappeared inside of Mark's two hands.

Mark was always touching her mother, putting his hands on her, standing close behind her so that his entire body was right against her back. In New York they slept in the same bed. She wasn't supposed to tell her dad about that, or about living with Mark for two months.

"Why don't you watch T.V. for a little while. Okay, sweetheart?" her mother said.

Bonny nodded. The way her mother was talking sounded more like a command than a request. Besides, there was no T.V. at the trailer.

Her mother and Mark didn't like Crocodile Hunter so they went into the other room.

While Bonny watched Steve Irwin wrestle an alligator Addison dug her fingernails into Mark Sloan's back and smothered her moans in his neck, the edge of the door frame cutting into her back.

Twenty minutes later Mark carried her to the bed, set her down and settled on the duvet beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist. Her head rested under his chin, her face against his chest and he could feel her breath, against his skin.

"I miss you Addison," he whispered and thought he felt her nod against him. He held her tighter, brushed a kiss to her hair.

"Come home with me."

She stiffened. He felt her breath get shallower. She was weighing her options.

"It'll be different, Addison. I promise. Just, come home with me."

She shook her head.

"I can't... Bonny..."

He swallowed. "Maybe it could just be you and me."

Addison sighed and rolled away from him. He watched her dress, hastily, refusing to look at him. He stood and reached for her but she dodged his grasp.

"Addison..."

"Don't."

"Addison..."

"I can't leave her, Mark. I just... can't," she sighed, slipping out the door without meeting his eyes and pulling it shut firmly behind her as if to emphasize her point, the sharp click of the latch expressing finality, end of discussion.

He heard her telling her daughter it was time to go, heard Bonny protesting that her show wasn't over yet.

"You can watch the end some other time. Let's go," was the last he heard of Addison before the door to the suite clicked shut and she was gone.

He sighed and fell back on the bed, closed his eyes and contemplated phoning room service and getting smashed. He decided against it. He still had time to go to a bar, find a girl and have some fun before his return flight tomorrow. Might as well get _something_ out of the trip.

* * *

Wow, Mark. Way to taint the adultery. Oh, and you don't ask your lover to leave her child for you. It's just not done. Another major faux pas of adultery. 

Reviews please.


	10. A Love That Lasts Forever

Well it's been ten days since I updated, which is really no surprise considering the fact that I was really vague when I outlined this chapter. Hopefully it works out anyway. If I've done my job you will all be very sad by the end.

Dear crazychica6, I will attempt to do that explaination I promised you over the weekend. However I can't guarantee anything because I'll be at a music festival and will probably spend all my time enjoying the bands and or enjoying some, ahem, beveridges...

If anyone else is interested in an explaination of Jungian psychology as it relates to Falling Apart, drop me a review. It will hopefully make some things clearer. Why Addison is miserable all the time, why Derek is el Creepo, etc.

Or you could just review and tell me what you liked and didn't like about the chapter. That's great too.

Anyways...

Chapter Ten: A Love That Lasts Forever

It was late when they got back to the trailer but Bonny's dad wasn't home. That meant surgery. Her dad had to stay over night at the hospital for surgery two or three times a week.

Bonny and her mother slept together in Bonny's bed on those nights and her mother curled around her and clung to her in her sleep, like she was drowning and holding onto Bonny was the only thing keeping her afloat.

When they went into the trailer her mother kicked off her shoes and peeled off her nylons as soon as they were inside. She went into the bathroom and Bonny went to change into her pajamas. She could hear her mother running a bath. Bonny went into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

Her mother was slipping into the bath, biting her lip and wincing because the water was so hot. Baths like that were good if you needed to get really clean. Really hot baths made you sweat out all the dirt that was under your skin. Her mother took a lot of those baths. She pretended it didn't hurt but Bonny knew the water was scalding. She watched beads of sweat swell on her mother's forehead, watched the hot water turn her body pink.

A thin, silver line ran across her mother's stomach, the mark left behind from the C-section when Bonny was born. Her mother's hips were narrow and the baby wasn't positioned properly so the doctors had to cut. Bonny had learned about that a long time ago. She knew she was the cause of that mark, knew her birth had scarred her otherwise perfect mother. She sometimes felt guilty about it.

Her mother shifted in the bath and sighed like she wanted to let all the air out of her lungs and sink to the bottom of the bath and never come up.

Bonny stopped brushing and watched her. Just in case. But her mother only sighed again, a tired sigh.

Bonny knew that lately things were difficult for her mother. She could see the stress shrinking her, eating her away so that bones poked out at her hips and Bonny could watch her ribs roll under her skin as she inhaled and then sink back into her flesh when she breathed out again. It was like her mother was disappearing in front of her.

Her mother was not like the other moms in New York or Seattle. Those moms were always smiling, like the moms on T.V. They had blond hair or brown hair or brown hair dyed blond and they wore jeans and practical shoes and colours. They had big ugly purses full of snacks and juice boxes and plastic Band-Aids with cartoon characters on them. They drove minivans. Squishy foam soccer balls or pink plastic ballet shoes dangled from their review mirrors and key chains. When their children were bad they scolded them without loosing their tempers. They were good at helping with homework. They used stupid rhymes to teach you how to tie your shoes and made you eat your vegetables before you had desert. Her mother was not one of those moms.

Bonny sometimes wished she was. Then she felt guilty.

But her dad was like the dads on T.V. Her dad wore jeans. He played games with her. He taught her how to tie her shoes with a stupid rhyme. He helped her with her homework and he didn't let her eat Pop-tarts for dinner.

Her dad had never lost his temper with her.

Those were only some of the many differences between her dad and her mother. Since coming to Seattle Bonny had begun to realize that her parents were two very different people. They were not, as she had previously thought, a man and a woman so close together they almost counted as one person, but a man and a woman drifting away from each other, a man and a woman separated by an ever widening gap.

And that meant she would eventually have to choose. If things kept going like this she would eventually have to decide which parent to attach herself to, which parent to depend on, which parent to cling to and which to let go.

Her dad was like the dads on T.V. Except for that one terrible night, her dad never got angry, never yelled, never cried. When her dad was only two years older than Bonny was now, his father had died and Bonny couldn't even imagine him crying about that. Her father didn't seem capable of emotional extremes.

Not like her mother, who, in New York, with Mark, had been a terrifying whirlwind of emotions.

Soft, dark eyes and then the bathroom door clicking shut meant she was crying.

White-hot happiness was pinning Bonny to the carpet and tickling her until she was shrieking and crying and giggling and begging to be let go all at once.

Explosive anger was slamming doors and flinging her black patent stilettos at Mark's head.

And then the strange and unfamiliar emotions.

Sitting on the kitchen counter in her underwear in the middle of the night with Mark standing just slightly between her knees. Running her fingers over his face and through his hair and letting her lips drift slowly closer to his.

And the increasingly frequent spells of numbness.

So that by the time they arrived in Seattle it was like Bonny was watching her mother sink deeper and deeper under cold grey water. And in the face of that the initial shyness and uncertainty that came with seeing her father again was quickly replaced by the desperate hope that somehow he could make things better.

That was what her dad did. He smoothed things over. He made things calm. He was a doctor so he knew how to make people feel safe. Her dad knew how to make people trust him and like him. He made Bonny like him. Even if she didn't want to, even if she wanted to hate him for leaving, she didn't have a choice. Maybe if she trusted him he would make things better. That's what parents were supposed to do, right?

But nothing was getting better. Everything was only getting worse. Her mother was sinking and her father was floating above it all without doing anything to help. Her family was crumbling into halves. Which meant she had to choose.

And as much as Bonny couldn't help liking her father, as much as she saw that he was calm and patient and steady and mildly happy in his own dilute way, all the things that her mother was not and that a parent should probably be, choosing him wasn't an option. Because that meant letting go of her mother and if she did that her mother would drown.

And Bonny would not survive without her mother. It was a simple as that. It was a question of survival.

Lately Bonny thought a lot about the C-section, thought of masked doctors slicing into her mother's skin and tearing her open, thought of her mother bleeding. And whenever she thought of that she thought about how there could have been complications and her mother could have died. And that thought twisted her stomach into tight knots inside her.

Even worse was the thought that she might be loosing her mother for reasons that doctors couldn't fix. Her mother might sink into numbness and disappear completely. It was terrifyingly possible. And it was the one thing that simply couldn't happen.

Because Bonny needed her mother. Not for Band-Aids and healthy snacks and help with homework and her shoelaces, but for vague and irrational reasons. There was a frantic urgency to this need, this desperate heart wrenching love. Because when you saw someone you depended on at their worst, saw them break down, saw their faults and failures and their pain on a daily basis, you couldn't love them gently or lazily, like most children loved their parents, couldn't idealize them or take them for granted. Love either soured or strengthened, turned to resentment or to a fierce devotion.

Bonny watched her mother breathe, watched a drop of sweat roll off her shoulder, watched another drop slide down her cheek. Sweat or that other salty liquid?

She wondered if her mother even realized she was there and silently begged her,

_Look at me._

Her mother continued to stare at the ceiling. Her arms floated listlessly on the surface of the water and the diamond on her left hand shot barbs of light at Bonny's eyes. When she was little she had asked her mother what the diamond was and her mother told her it was the hardest thing in the world. It couldn't be scratched or cracked or broken. It meant something that lasted forever.

But something that lasted forever didn't even exist.

Everything was changing all the time.

* * *

The inspiration for the diamond part came from Nick in Seven Up : 

"If I could change the world, I'd change it into a diamond."

Seven Up is a British documentary where the film makers interview a bunch of seven year olds from different socio-economic backgrounds with the assumption that their class and how wealthy they are will influence their hopes for the future and stuff like that. They go back and interview them again every seven years, so Fourteen Up, Twenty One Up etc. Forty Nine Up came out in 2005. It's a really interesting series.

Anyway, the seven year olds, especially Neil, Nick and Bruce are a big inspiration for Bonny.

Watch Seven Up or read about the Up series on Wikipedia and you will see what I mean. Actually, there are probably clips on YouTube.


	11. Just Keep Going

Hey, long time, no update... Here it is...

Chapter Eleven: Just keep going

She sometimes felt like time was getting away from her. Surgeries and paperwork and afternoons stranded with Bonny blurred together and she barely noticed the weeks crawl by. Time passed without touching her and nothing ever seemed to change. It was so easy to slip into trance. She went through the motions, the daily routine, and watched time run away from her, watched her life slip through her fingers.

Even sadness became monotonous. She barely noticed the dull ach in her chest any longer. Tears came at night and she let them fall in the bathroom, dried her eyes in front of the mirror and slipped back into bed beside Derek.

She was always careful of the space between them, the gap they both knew not to cross, the gap occupied by the third, invisible person sleeping in their bed. If she could find any excuse she slept with Bonny. That bed wasn't big enough for three.

Maybe she was making things worse, going where Derek couldn't touch her, even if he wanted to. But she wasn't sure she wanted him touching her. She could still feel the bruises left by that last disastrous attempt, still remembered the suffocating tightness of his arms around her, the feel of her heart beating against her ribs, like a bird beating its wings against the cage Derek's arms held clamped shut.

She had never felt so trapped in her life as she had by that last physical contact with her husband. After that Derek's steadily increasing absence was almost a relief.

Almost.

Because she couldn't help wondering how his absence was affecting his daughter. Bonny was quieter now. She whined less but Addison rarely saw her smile anymore. She had mentioned it to Derek once, leaving her fears about her inadequacy as a mother unvoiced.

_What if spending so much time with me is doing this to her? What if she turns out just like me? _

Instead she'd said she thought they should move into a neighborhood where Bonny would have other children to play with.

_Somewhere where making her happy isn't entirely up to me._

Derek said it was too much hassle and she didn't have it in her to fight him for it. He suggested they put Bonny on a soccer team instead and took her non-committal silence as an agreement. Beyond signing Bonny up he showed little interest in the team so somehow, without quite knowing how it happened to her, she became a soccer mom. The games, which she hated with an emotional intensity she'd thought herself no longer capable of, were the highlight of Bonny's week.

Addison glanced at her watch and sighed. Hardly five minutes had crawled by since she'd last checked the time. Watching a clump of shrieking children swarm around a ball seemed to drag fifty minutes into an eternity, an endless stretch of mind flattening boredom. She'd never really understood the appeal of soccer.

She knew the release of athleticism, had excelled at cross-country running in her early teens. Long legs helped her build a lead and after that it was all about endurance, physical and mental.

_Just keep going. Don't stop now. Just keep going._

So she understood what people got out of sports. But soccer had always baffled her.

When Derek had played in college she'd gone to watch occasionally and had always been amazed at how someone who claimed he wanted to be a neurosurgeon could enjoy striking a speeding projectile with his head. But she'd cheered politely through the games and told him he was wonderful afterwards and now she did the same for Bonny. Still she found it impossible to make it through fifty minutes without something to distract her.

So while the other parents crowded along the sidelines, shielding their eyes from the sun, squinting to get glimpses of their children and gasping whenever someone hit the ground Addison hung back on the bleachers reading medical journals.

The other parents rarely approached her. Maybe they sensed that she was not like them in ways that went beyond a lack of enthusiasm for the game. Maybe she was simply intimidating, her black Prada coat and three inch heels communicating a desire to isolate herself from the other mothers and fathers.

Even Miranda Bailey, who had a son on Bonny's team, seemed to prefer the company of the other parents, got along better with the women who's jeans and white trainers matched her own than she did with Addison. They'd spoken twice and Addison could barely remember what they'd talked about, could barely remember anything about Bailey herself, apart from that she was an excellent surgeon, she was Meredith's resident and she was just entering her third trimester of pregnancy. Addison wasn't even sure if the baby would be her second or her third.

Miranda Bailey believed in charity. You paid your church tithe, supported your local food bank and chose an organization to make a special contribution to at Christmas. If you had time, you volunteered. If not, you gave money. Miranda believed in charity. But she did not believe coworkers should be the recipients of that charity. That was messy. Among people who worked together there were certain boundaries to be established and maintained.

The gross part of her dislike for a certain dreamy neurosurgeon could be attributed to his failure to respect the boundaries between himself and her intern. Her young, impressionable intern. _Her_ intern.

And he had a wife. A wife who Miranda had watched with great curiosity for two weeks now.

Addison Shepard was an puzzling woman. She'd arrived suddenly and unannounced, throwing the hospital into a confusion that had only subsided as the dirty details of the Shepard's marriage began circulating the Seattle Grace rumor mill. Through it all she had been an unwavering pillar of professionalism, winning the grudging respect of most of the hospital staff and winning Miranda's admiration. Miranda Bailey did not admire lightly.

It was fascinating to see how this woman she admired so much as a doctor and a surgeon disappeared completely outside of the hospital. She'd approached Addison Shepard after the first soccer game of the season, introduced her son, Tyler, and said that Bonny seemed like she'd really enjoyed the game. She was shocked to see the other woman's eyes contract with something that almost looked like fear at the mention of her daughter. Addison's nervousness seemed to increase as they talked so that by the end of the conversation she was clearly struggling to conceal her anxiety.

The conversation had left Miranda perplexed. Surgeons weren't supposed to be shy. Self-confidence was an essential prerequisite for a career in surgery, even more so in a specialty like neonatal, where the mortality rates were so high. But Addison Shepard, outside of the hospital, was resolutely introverted, avoided eye contact with the other parents and buried her nose in medical journals.

Only by watching Addison's interactions with her daughter did Miranda begin to understand what it might all be about.

Bonny came tearing off the field after the game and threw herself at her mother. Addison was obviously overwhelmed by her daughter's physicality.

Bonny twisted and bounced in her mother's arms and barraged her with questions.

"Did you see me? Was I good? Did you see me?"

"I saw. You were great," Addison answered wearily. Usually she hadn't watched the game.

Addison struggled to herd her hyper, bouncing child into the car. Once inside she leaned her head against the window and sighed, her eyes, tired and hallow, betraying exhaustion she didn't dare communicate to her daughter.

Miranda could relate. She knew from personal experience the difficulties of balancing a demanding career with motherhood, and she expected she got a lot more support from Tucker than Addison did from her husband. She knew how hard doubts and insecurities about your adequacy as a mother hit when it was late and you were tired and you found yourself resenting your baby because he wanted your attention.

Miranda could relate. But she couldn't begin to understand what it must be like to go through that when your husband was cheating on you, and making it pretty damn obvious what he was doing, what it must be like to go through that when you were in a new city where you didn't know anyone and nobody knew you.

Miranda did not believe in being charitable to your coworkers. But she had a feeling she was about to make an exception.

Addison startled as Miranda sat herself on the bleachers next to her. Her entire body tensed, like a deer caught in headlights and for a moment she looked so heart wrenchingly frightened that Miranda was tempted to put an arm around her. Instead she launched herself into what she'd come to say,

"I think Bonny and Tyler might get along. Would you like to drop her at my place some time and if they hit it off we could work out a couple of play dates?"

Addison stiffened.

"I couldn't ask..."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

"But I'm sure you must be busy..."

Miranda inhaled through her nostrils, a trick she used when her interns were trying her patience. Addison was not making this easy for either of them.

"I'm very busy. So I would really appreciate it if Tyler had a friend to keep him occupied while I catch up on some things I haven't been able to catch up on since I've been too busy entertaining him." She stared at Addison.

_Don't be stubborn._

Addison swallowed and ducked her head. Miranda thought she caught a glimmer of tears in the other woman's eyes and had to strain her ears to hear what she said.

"Thank you," Addison whispered. She took a ragged breath. "She's just with me _all the time._"

"I know." Miranda gingerly placed a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "I know."

* * *

I think by now you all know what I'm going to ask you to do... 


	12. Two Sips From the Cup of Human Kindness

So, before I go to Europe for three weeks I thought I'd give you an update. So you get a new, long chapter but you also have to wait twice as long for the next one.

Also, this chapter is a little disturbing so just BEWARE.

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Two Sips from the Cup of Human Kindness and I'm Shitfaced 

Meredith Grey stared into the mirror in the interns' locker room, surveyed her reflection unenthusiastically. There wasn't much to get excited about. Her skin looked dull and rough, evidence of how little time surgical interns had to devote to things like exfoliating and eating healthy meals. She also had thicker eyebrows than was probably necessary. And her hair... Well, the less said about that the better. Most days she pulled it back just to avoid having to think about it. Because whenever she did that she inevitably found herself making comparisons. Well, one specific comparison...

And comparing her hair to a certain neonatal attending's was definitely not good for her self-esteem.

Actually, it was more the fact that her boyfriend's wife was...leggy and fabulous in general that was not good for her self-esteem.

Not that Derek was her boyfriend. He was more like her... non-boyfriend. Except that sounded ridiculous. And she didn't think what she and Derek were doing was ridiculous.

_What are we doing?_

_What am I doing?_

The simple answer was that she was having an affair with a married man. Except it wasn't _really_ that simple. Meredith Grey didn't do simple. And the fact that Derek was a father certainly didn't simplify anything.

The fact that her non-boyfriend and his leggy, fabulous wife had a child together didn't make her feel great about herself either.

Well, she was probably allowed to feel not great about herself after the shift she'd had. It was shifts like the last one she'd worked that often made Meredith wonder if the universe wasn't somehow conspiring against her.

She was assigned to Bailey in the clinic for the graveyard shift, which was fine. It wasn't surgery but it wasn't torture either. She wasn't complaining. She was minding her own business, which was usually a pretty good indication that something was about to go horribly wrong with her life. The universe liked to catch her unawares.

As she was diligently minding her own business, Addison Shepard, somehow looking leggy and fabulous even at three in the morning, swept into the clinic balancing her daughter on her hip. Bonny was half asleep.

Meredith glued her eyes on the chart in her hands, resisting the urge to steal a glance at Derek's wife. If she was honest with herself, what she liked to call her "natural curiosity about Derek's family" was really more of an obsession. Addison especially, fascinated her. If the tall, statuesque redhead was the kind of woman Derek would marry then what exactly did that make her?

By now her friends had gotten tired of listening to her try to answer that question. She had a habit of discussing the affair, making justifications. But her friends weren't the people she needed to justify herself to. They probably thought she was insane. Only Christina even pretended to be supportive anymore but Meredith could tell she was getting on her person's nerves. It didn't help that Cristina's boyfriend, Doctor Burke had recently invited the Shepards to dinner at his apartment, a dinner at which Cristina had been present. The fact that Cristina was Meredith's only connection to Addison Shepard's life outside the hospital was frustrating for both of them, Meredith because she was so desperately interested in the other woman and Christina because she wasn't.

After several attempts to get Cristina to talk about Addison, several hours spent prodding for brusque answers, all Meredith had gathered was that dinner had been awkward and afterwards Addison had sat in a corner with her daughter and nursed a Martini. She'd given Bonny the olives. Finally, when Meredith pressed for more information one too many times, Cristina had snapped,

"Mer, there were surgeons there. Talking about surgery. I was kind of more focused on that than on what colour lipstick your boyfriend's wife wears."

"Estranged wife."

"Whatever."

So obviously finding out about Addison Shepard from Cristina was not an option. And she couldn't exactly chat with Derek's wife over drinks either. And when she was at work she was supposed to be working, not eavesdropping on Addison's conversations with Doctor Bailey. But it was really hard to mind her own business when she distinctly heard Addison Shepard whisper to Bailey,

"I need an intern. Not Grey."

Because when her name came up in conversation between Doctor Bailey and Addison Shepard it was usually a pretty good indication that she should start paying attention. She also knew for a fact that Bailey only had one intern who was really available at the moment. And she was that intern.

Bailey said as much. And clearly her life was some kind of sick joke the universe was playing on her because Addison Shepard's internal struggle between really not wanting anything to do with Meredith Grey and really needing an intern for some satanic purpose was almost visible. And all Meredith could do was watch her weigh her options and hope the universe was going to take pity on her.

But of course it was useless to hope. Seemingly in slow motion, Addison's indecision hardened into resolve and she turned and advanced on Meredith, red curls swinging, heels clicking on the linoleum, sleeping child slung on her hip. It was all oddly reminiscent of Addison's earth-shattering appearance in Meredith's life.

But before she could fall into reliving that particular unpleasant memory Addison was standing in front of her saying,

"Grey," and tilting her head, indicating Meredith should follow her. And somehow they ended up in an on-call room and Addison was laying her daughter down on a bed and then she was turning to Meredith and saying,

"Look, I don't like this any more than you do, but I have a patient about to go into emergent surgery and I need someone to watch Bonny."

Meredith swallowed. Then,

"Her father hasn't been answering his pages but if you want to try again..."

And this was obviously some twisted form of Karmic punishment because she'd left Derek sleeping at her house and his pager was probably in his coat pocket by the front door and he was in her bedroom on the second floor where he probably wouldn't be able to hear it. And the universe was obviously taking pleasure in punishing her for that.

"I doubt she'll even wake up," Addison said and her daughter immediately started to stir, her eyes fluttering open. Addison explained to Bonny that she had to go into surgery and that Meredith would be looking after her for a couple of hours. Bonny looked at Meredith, blinked once and declared in a pleading, pitiful voice,

"I don't want to stay with Meredith. I want to go with you."

"Well you can't. You have to stay here. It's only for a few hours, Bonny. Meredith's really nice. I promise,"

Meredith swallowed. She'd always been a terrible babysitter.

Bonny seemed to sense this was the case.

"I won't stay with Meredith."

"Yes, you will." Addison was clearly impatient to get to her surgery.

"I will not stay with Meredith!"

"Yes, you will!"

And for a moment Meredith almost felt sorry for Addison. The fatigue and anxiety and frustration suddenly evident in her voiceand her tight shoulders said that she _really_ didn't need this right now.

"Bonny, are you _trying_ to give me a nervous breakdown?"

"No." Bonny's eyes were suddenly huge and bright with tears, an expression of utter shock and horror on her face.

"Then _stop_ arguing," Addison hissed, going through the door and pulling it closed, rather sharply behind her.

Bonny burst into tears.

What followed could probably be classified as one of the most painful experiences of Meredith's life. Bonny was inconsolable. After twenty minutes of trying to calm her down Meredith panicked and phoned Derek, who when he finally arrived, had little more success than she'd had. When she asked him what they were supposed to do he replied,

"I don't know. She gets like this sometimes when Addison's not around. I guess she'll eventually tire herself out."

Meredith nodded and watched Bonny sob. Something inside her ached for the little girl. She didn't really know how things were for the Shepards as a family, but she had a pretty good idea. And she knew what that was like. Knew what it felt like when you were seven years old and suddenly nothing made sense anymore. Her parents had split up when she was seven.

Eventually Bonny cried herself to sleep, leaving Derek and Meredith sitting on opposite sides of the room, silence hanging over them. And something felt different. With Derek's daughter in the room something felt different between them.

Meredith sighed and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She and Derek needed to have a talk before she left the hospital.

That afternoon Derek went straight to the trailer after work. The first thing he saw when he walked through the door was Addison standing at the kitchen sink with her back to him. Her shoulder blades stood out sharp beneath her thin white blouse. He sighed.

"Where's Bonny."

"Play date with Tyler Bailey."

Derek nodded and tossed his jacket onto the counter. Addison turned around. Her eyebrows furrowed as she noticed the tight set of his jaw, his hair, ruffled and messy from his hands nervously running through it. He used to look like that after loosing patients.

"Derek..."

"You really hate me don't you?" he whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why'd it have to be Meredith? Last night. You couldn't find another intern?"

"No, I couldn't actually."

"You really hate me don't you?"

Addison sighed.

"I don't hate you Derek. I just hate what you're doing with Meredith Grey."

Derek felt something coming over him. It almost felt like he was angry. His hands were balling into fists. Addison was just speaking her mind. He shouldn't be angry with her for that.

But he watched his hands reach out for her, one catching the front of her shirt, the other closing around her wrist. He watched himself jerk her violently towards him and then push her up against the wall, hard. He heard the back of her head smack against the wall. And suddenly he was leaning up close to her, flattening her against the wall with his body, bringing his face close to hers and hissing,

"Don't talk about her."

"Okay," Addison whispered and he hardly heard her, like her voice was coming from far away. Her wide frightened eyes were staring up at him and through the haze falling over his mind he thought that she looked very small. She wasn't strong. It was very easy to drag her across the trailer to the bed. It was very easy to hold her still as he climbed on top of her, and she didn't even really struggle.

It was all over before either of them really knew what had happened. Addison lay on her back staring at the ceiling. She was very still. Her hands were motionless at her sides. He watched her for a minute. She didn't cry.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She sighed.

"It's fine. Will you pass me my shirt? I have to go pick up Bonny."

* * *

So, yeah... There's something to ponder for the next three weeks.

I had way too much fun writting Meredith. I tried to portray her as just as really different from Addison, but at the same time really similar. It's like they're both really insecure but in completely different ways. Let me know if that worked out.

Review.

Oh, and back when I gave that disclaimer about how Derek was going to be the bad guy in this fic, well that last bit is what I was talking about. There's more evil Derek to come so I'll just warn you all again that he's not going to be anyone's knight in shining whatever. If you're hoping he'll be redeemed, well...


	13. Maskenstillleben

_I'm back, after, oh, a month and a half, with a daring attempt to write from the P.O.V. of a original character. Let me know what you think._..

Chapter Thirteen: Maskenstillleben

Allan Curtis peered over his glasses at the small person sulking in the corner of his vice-principal's office. Bonny Shepard's knees were scraped and she held an ice pack to her pouting, swollen lower lip. She looked small and frightened, like most children sent to the office, tears still clinging to her eyelashes, but there was a stubborn determination in the set of her jaw that he rarely witnessed in children so young. It made him wonder.

Curtis didn't have a wife or children, although he would have loved them very much if he did have them. He didn't really know anything about families although he would have liked to be part of one. And he was only twenty-nine, younger than most of the parents of the children that attended the school. For these reasons he didn't feel entirely cut out to meet with parents and discuss their children. It felt pretentious. He had very little in common with these parents and he knew very little about raising children. But he had to do his job. Several teachers had come to him with concerns about Bonny Shepard, and judging from their testimony, and from what he could see of the severity of Bonny's latest injuries it was past time he had a talk with someone about it. Still, he didn't relish the idea of a meeting with Addison Shepard.

He'd been a scrawny pimply teenager and had grown into a scrawny adult with a boyish face that still broke out occasionally. Beautiful intelligent women had always intimidated him, from the pretty girls who didn't notice him in high school to the first woman he'd ever loved. And there was something especially grand and terrifying about Addison. She was tall, regal even and imperious, robing herself in that icy, unapproachable beauty.

"Addison Shepard, stone cold bitch," the teachers had whispered among themselves in the first weeks Bonny had attended the school. But he thought differently. He knew the type of woman who hid her fears beneath a fearsome exterior. Or he'd known her long ago. And in so many ways Addison reminded him of that woman who lived in his past. It made him wonder.

How would she react as she sat in front of him and he expressed his concern for her child? Would she tilt her head back, draw herself up to her full height and arrange her features into that impassive mask? Would she glance down to hide the pain in her eyes behind her lashes? Would she cling to her shields, those defenses that long ago woman had made him so familiar with, the cold stare, the cruel smile? She knew to a certain extent what the visit was about. They'd spoken briefly on the phone. She would be prepared to guard herself against his sympathies.

But when she entered his office the first thing Addison saw was Bonny on a chair in the corner with bruises darkening on her arms and face. Her lips parted in a silent gasp and her face softened into an expression of pain and concern that was at once subtle and eloquent.

Curtis was puzzled. He hadn't expected to witness emotion.

"What happened?" Addison's voice teetered perilously on the brink of control.

"Another playground scuffle. This time she picked a fight with a group of older boys."

Addison nodded absently, already kneeling before her daughter and cautiously reaching out to touch the bruises on her face.

"Let me see." Her voice was soft but firm and her delicate fingers fluttered over Bonny's cheek, gently tracing the orbital bone, searching for signs of fracture. She lightly touched her daughter's swollen mouth and unconsciously caught her own lip in her teeth when Bonny winced.

The intimacy of the scene was captivating, Addison's gentle touch, the softness of her voice. Few things were more beautiful than a mother and child.

Finally, Addison let her hands fall to her sides, sighed and told her daughter, "I don't want you picking fights with people who are bigger than you. You'll get hurt."

Under different circumstances Curtis would have found it amusing that Addison's advice though little more than common sense, was such an atypical reaction to the situation. Other mothers would have at least concluded with a reminder that it wasn't nice to fight. But he hadn't expected Addison to be a typical mother.

He remembered crouching against the bathroom door as a small child, straining his ears for the sound of his mother crying. He never heard anything but remembered dreaming lakes of tears oozing out from beneath the bathroom door and soaking into the carpets. But somehow his mother always emerged with her shields up, a hard look in her eyes that warned him not to show her compassion.

"Addison Shepard, stone cold bitch," the teachers had whispered among themselves. But he thought differently.

In Addison's silence and in her tortured eyes he saw another Lynne Curtis. Decades later, his mother, the first woman he'd ever loved, was standing in front of him again. And, like a powerless child, he could do nothing to help her.

As carefully as he tried to reach out to her, Addison would resist. He could try to disguise his intentions, and he did, cloaking his meaning in blanket statements as they pretended to discuss Bonny.

"Sometimes aggressive behaviour is a cry for attention, for help.

"Moving across the country can be very hard on a child. On _anyone._"

But Addison's eyes narrowed, piercing through his pretense. She stood, took her daughter's hand and told him he needn't concern himself. Then she led Bonny from the office.

He watched them go feeling as helpless as that small child crouching against the bathroom door. He had lost her again.

Day by day he'd watched her slip away and finally, when he was nine, he'd gone to live with his grandmother. They had comforted one another and grieved, she for her daughter and he for the woman he'd called Lynne, the woman he'd loved with all fierceness of a wounded animal, the woman he couldn't save, not from herself.

That night Addison lay next to Derek, isolated by silence and as much space as the bed would allow between them. She could feel his eyes on her back. He'd been watching her for days, keeping his distance, waiting for her to react to what he'd done. She wasn't sure she was going to.

Early the next morning she woke to find his arms wrapped around her waist from behind, his lips pressed against her neck whispering that he loved her. She stiffened and moved away and barely heard his words over the pounding of her own heart.

"Addison, please let me show you I'm sorry."

He was drawing closer now, reaching out to tentatively touch her face, tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his hesitation and careful movements showing how much he meant the words, how guilty he felt. Still the touch of his fingers on her skin sent chills running through her, freezing her limbs and settling deep and cold inside her like ice water pooling in her stomach.

Cold, mute fear and the memory of his fingers sinking into her, pressing bruises deep into her skin washed over her, sucking the air from her lungs and leaving her dizzied and weak. She felt herself sinking into his waiting arms, abandoning

The terror dulled to a throbbing ache in her chest. Within minutes that too had faded to silence. She was an emptiness. His whispers and gentle caresses only left her numb.

* * *

_Man, this fic is turning into such an angst-fest._ _Depression, domestic violence, people's mother's killing themselves. If this story were a painting it would be in the Expressionist style, you know, die Brucke, Munch, Nolde, all that good stuff. _

_ Anyway, even though he is evil Derek still feels guilty about what he did. Bonny is getting in fights at school and I was a sneak and didn't tell you where her injuries came from for like half a chapter. Addison continues to break all our hearts._

_ Anyone who's ever been depressed knows that empty, numb feeling I'm trying to describe here. Seasonal Affective Dissorder paid me yearly visits before I discovered how essential vitimin D is to those of us not living in "sunnier climes." In case I misplace my cool little anti-SAD lamp though, I'd really appreciate some reviews to see me through the first dreary days of October.  
_


	14. Blue Period

A/N: If you're bored, you live in Ontario, or you're interested in seeing me attempt political satire, you should visit my profile. The sequel to Dirty and Sweet is also up there. It's Addisex and it's happy. The following is not happy. Be prepared.

Chapter Fourteen: Blue Period

When she was sixteen the idea of waking up to a rose on the pillow beside her would have seemed romantic. The glow of, early morning sunlight against blossoming petals would have been only one detail of a broader, rose hued fantasy, one note in the melody her girlish imagination composed.

Reality was harsher. The flower on the pillow beside her signified nothing more than a hallow apology, a token of remorse already fading, while the memory of what Derek had done to her was still fresh. Soon the petals would whither away. The flower was already dead, fatally injured and slowly giving up its struggle to live. It would shrivel and rot before the bruises on her arms faded. It was an empty gesture, a momentary pressing of lips against a wound that would take much longer to heal, a wound no amount of kisses could begin to repair.

Not that Derek hadn't tired to kiss her better, but that too had lost the glow of romance.

Sex had become an act of submission, a surrender. She yielded to Derek's nightly use of her body because she lacked the strength to resist.

He was gentle. He touched her lightly, stroked her hair, scattered kisses on her neck and shoulders. When his hands slipped down and parted her thighs he was firm but never rough and he moved slowly, carefully, above her. Still there was little tenderness in Derek's hesitant, apologetic attentions or in her own passive tolerance. Their sex was simply a constrained, deliberate brutality, thumb- screws instead of kneecapping, a mechanical, passionless rape the two of them perpetrated together.

As she lay beneath him she sometimes wondered why she went along with it. Maybe complacency was a way to inflict the pain on herself rather than waiting for Derek to do it to her. Maybe she just didn't see the point of resistance. Compliance seemed vulgar and left her feeling dirty and used long after Derek rolled off her, but the underlying sadness outlasted even that. She existed under a perpetual, changeless sorrow, whether or not Derek touched her. She suffered and sunk lower while Derek's apologies piled up around her, crowding in on her from all sides. A kiss, a caress, a tired phrase, a cliché, she would have traded them all for a little extra sleep, the chance to close her eyes again and die for a few hours more.

But she had a daughter who needed to be at school on time and any help from Derek on that front apparently wasn't part of his campaign to show her how sorry he was. He could repeat the words again and again. He could try to apologize with gifts that seemed sleazy, despite their price tags, gifts that cluttered her jewelry box and seemed to cheapen everything they touched so that even the things she'd inherited from her mother looked tarnished, worthless, fake. He could try to apologize with sex but he couldn't take the time to make a sandwich and put it in his daughter's knapsack before he went to work. Bonny wasn't the one he was trying to apologize to.

But she didn't do much better herself. Bonny was lucky to be dropped off on time with the necessary supplies in her bag and a hastily prepared lunch. Some days she fed her daughter entirely on packaged food.

Today she forgot about packing anything until in the car on the way to the school when Bonny discovered her lunch-bag was missing. She had some change on the dashboard and stuffed it into her daughter's hands when she dropped her off.

"You can buy something, right?"

As she drove away she couldn't help comparing her behaviour to Derek's, money in lieu of decent nourishment, gifts in lieu of a sincere apology. So now she was like Derek. She wasn't trying hard enough. Maybe she didn't care enough. Maybe she didn't love enough.

That night she tiptoed to the side of Bonny's bed and knelt down beside it. She rested her head on the mattress and watched her daughter's face while she slept. The familiar features were slack in sleep, her daughter's cheek squashed against the pillow, her mouth hanging open. She looked like a stranger. Addison stared at her, trying to find something she recognized in her face, trying to remember how she looked when she smiled, what her laughter sounded like. This was the same baby girl whose life was sparked inside her, whose first heartbeats echoed in her womb. This was the same baby girl who she sheltered for nine months, like a precious secret, deep in her body. This was the same baby girl she'd known closer and better than anyone else could know her, the same baby girl who knew her in ways no one else ever would. She should _feel something_ when she looked at her.

She knelt staring at her daughter until her knees went stiff against the hard floor and every muscle in her back twisted into knots. It was cold in the trailer. She shivered in her thin, silk nightgown and barely felt the tears streaming down her cheeks. She was colder inside than out. She looked at Bonny, begging herself to see something she recognized and loved, digging for some hidden recess of feeling inside herself. Instead she found sadness, that strangling, mind numbing pain that coiled around her and squeezed until she was too tired feel anything else. She found herself choking back sobs and whispering,

"I'm sorry, Bonny. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's happening to me," to her sleeping daughter before she stumbled to the bathroom and collapsed onto the floor.

She lay there until early morning when she heard the approach of Derek's car. He'd called to say he'd be delayed in surgery the night before. Every muscle in her body protested as she dragged herself off the floor. She had to clutch the counter for support as the room swirled around her.

Derek found her in the bathroom. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and dropped a kiss on her shoulder. Chilly, early morning air still clung to his jacket and she shivered when he pulled her against his chest. He ran his hands over the goose-bumps on her arms and pressed another kiss to her neck.

"You're up early."

She nodded. "It gets cold in here in the mornings. I can't sleep."

"Mm. Well, since you're up... I was going to give this to you tonight, but," he turned her towards the mirror, "maybe you can wear it to work today." He swept her hair off her shoulders and gathered it at the base of her neck. "Can you hold that?"

She fisted a hand in her hair and watched in the mirror as he draped a silver necklace across her collarbones. He fastened the clasp, placed his hands on her shoulders and, looking into the mirror over her shoulder, told her she was beautiful.

She wondered what he was talking about. She looked sick. Her skin was pale, white almost, against the black lace edging her nightgown. Even her lips were pale. She could see bones that hadn't been visible before where the nightgown hung loose between her breasts. The eyes that stared back at her from the mirror were ringed with dark circles and glazing over with fatigue. They looked empty, hallow, like a dead person's eyes.

She watched hands she couldn't feel glide over her body, watched Derek lower his lips to her skin and suck at her neck. She watched tears gather in her eyes and slide down her face. When her breath hitched and sobs began to rack her body, Derek finally noticed.

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" he whispered, turning her around and lifting her onto the counter. "Addison?" He placed a finger under her chin, tried to tilt her face and look into her eyes. She flinched and twisted away from him.

"Don't touch me."

"I need you to tell me what's wrong."

She refused to meet his eyes, staring instead at her lap where the silk nightgown was spotted with her tears. Finally she whispered,

"Why is it that I'm your wife and somehow _I'm_ the one you treat like a prostitute? Or do you buy this stuff for your girlfriend as well?"

He stepped back and ran his hands through his hair. Unsure how to respond he muttered,

"Meredith and I are broken up."

She snapped her head round and glared at him eyes narrowed in mistrust.

"Since when?" she hissed.

He didn't reply but he could see she guessed the truth.

"Since you started _fucking_ me again?" She spat the words laced with disgust. "You know, that is really twisted, Derek. You can cheat on your wife but you can't be unfaithful to your girlfriend? Is that it? And then you did that to me to make yourself feel better?"

"I didn't mean to do it. I'm trying to make things better."

"It's not working."

He sighed. "Well what do you want me to do?"

She drew a ragged breath, fixed her eyes on him and said,

"I want you to leave."

"Addison..."

She shook her head. "Please, just go."

"Okay."

She let her head fall back against the mirror and closed her eyes, listened to him exit first the bathroom, then the trailer, heard him start his car and drive away. Slowly her breathing returned to normal. She slid off the counter and collapsed against the wall as her legs buckled underneath her. Clutching the doorknob for support she eventually found her balance and got the door open.

Bonny was standing in the kitchen in her pajamas and house-coat, rubbing her eyes and trying not to yawn. She usually wasn't awake for another forty-five minutes. Her face was a mixture of fatigue and confusion, just beginning to morph into fear.

"Mommy, where's Daddy going? What happened?"

Addison struggled to breathe steadily, forced a smile and insisted, "Nothing happened. You need to start getting ready for school."

* * *

A/N: Hey, look what happened. Plot. 

For those curious "Blue Period" refers to a part of Picasso's career where he painted a lot of depressing pictures of prostitutes. I've given the last two chapters art names. Chapter Thirteen: "Maskenstillleben" translates to Still Life of Masks. It's by Emile Nolde. I am an art nerd.


	15. Sutures

A/N: I don't know why it took me so long to update this but here it is. If anyone's still reading, let me know. I intend to finish this story but I wont continue to post it here if no one's interested.

Chapter Fifteen: Sutures

Sutures. They ran through her heart and stitched her to Derek. Silk threads, spider fine. They were delicate individually but their combined strength held her faster than chains. And they were tied with slipknots so no matter which way she pulled they tightened around her. She was caught.

And it was a snare of her own making. Each time Derek kissed her, touched her, hurt her and she did nothing, each time she accepted his gifts, was another stitch in the trap she'd sewn herself into. She was beginning to wonder if she could ever pull free. Or was it already too late. Would live this suffocating existence until it killed her?

She'd surprised herself, somehow dragging up the strength to ask Derek to leave. But how long would he stay away? And when he asked her to come back would she have the strength to refuse? She doubted she had much strength left for anything anymore.

She dropped her daughter at school like she did every morning. Avoiding eye contact and Bonny's questioning gaze. As she pulled away from the school she turned to watch her daughter's backpack slip across the playground until it disappeared into the crowd of others just like it. She felt a sudden, agonizing need to have Bonny in the car with her again, to have her in her arms for just a minute, to tell her she loved her, or at least to say goodbye. But there was no time for that. Minutes that had dangled in front of her in suspended animation only the day before now seemed to slip away so quickly. And she needed all of them, needed to use them while they were still hers. She couldn't rip the stitches that held her to Derek but she could pluck them out one by one. And for that she needed time and she needed to be alone.

She called the hospital and canceled her surgeries, keeping the conversation as brief as possible. Then she turned her car and drove to the trailer, hands clamped like vices to the wheel and eyes staring straight ahead.

Strands of silver and gold slithered through her fingers one by one and slipped beneath the surface of the lake. She held back her mother's jewelry and watched eleven years of the chains and earrings Derek had hung her with ripple the cold, grey surface of the water and then disappear. After sinking the jewelry she felt lighter, as if some of her pain had gone to the bottom with it. For the first time she could remember it almost didn't hurt to breathe. She tucked her mother's jewelry in to her pocket and turned away from the lake, then, as an after-thought, tugged her wedding rings off her fingers and dropped them into the water as well.

Back inside the trailer she moved slowly, first to the closet where she took only the clothing she'd bought for herself, collected things that were hers alone and left the rest behind. As she took her clothes from their hangers she let anything that could be associated with Derek fall onto the floor and left it there. It was a dispassionate ritual, mechanical, like plucking stitches.

Her suitcase filled slowly. This place they lived in had no walls and the pieces of her life migrated freely across the invisible boundaries between rooms and mingled almost homogenously with Derek's. There was very little she felt she could take away without bringing memories with her: a luxury shaving kit of her fathers that Derek had never used, books she's read in college and had never thrown away, photos of her parents and of a skinny little girl with wide eyes and a wide grin and less-than-perfect teeth, a younger, happier Addison she somehow barely recognized.

As she moved from the bedroom to the kitchen to the bathroom the piles of discarded clothing and personal effects began to swell and blend together. Soon all that was distinguishable from the chaos was her own, neatly packed suitcase and a pile of children's' clothing, books and toys strewn across her daughter's bed. Addison stood over the heap of mismatched socks and dirty soccer jerseys waiting to be stuffed into a suitcase and she hesitated. The sight of her daughter's crumpled clothing lying on her bed snapped her out of the trance she'd been working in throughout the day and stabbed her in the guts. The jeans with holes in the knees were lying there waiting. And she was hesitating. She could leave Bonny behind. It was a terrifying, painful and possible. She could cut the last thread that tied her to Derek and walk away free. But leaving Bonny wasn't snipping some fragile thread like dropping a necklace into the lake. It was cutting out a piece of her heart, a piece of her heart that she was supposed to take with her. And yet, she was hesitating. Then slowly, she set the suitcase down on the floor and picked up the phone.

Miranda Bailey answered on the fifth ring, apologized and explained that Tyler and the new baby were keeping her busy. She sounded tired but happy. Addison felt tears welling in her eyes. Her own voice sounded like it was coming from very far away. It sounded unfamiliar. She didn't recognize the casual, lighthearted tone her words took as the tumbled out of her mouth, didn't feel at all connected to the simple request she was making of the other woman.

"I'm sorry, Miranda, I know it's last minute but would you mind picking Bonny up from school today and looking after her for a couple hours? I have to run some errands."

Half and hour later she was in her car alone. Seattle was vanishing behind her and the road ahead of her was a watery blur, barely visible through her tears. Her palms were sweating, her breath was catching in her throat and she couldn't feel her arms or legs. She couldn't drive with the world swimming all around her so she pulled over and laid her head on the steering wheel. She tried to catch her breath but sobs and harsh gasps tore through her lungs again and again. At the side of the road that lead away from Seattle, Addison broke down and cried.


	16. The Scream

A/N: Review.

Chapter Sixteen: The Scream

Hot tears scorched their way down her face, tracking burning paths over her skin. Sobs racked her body. Addison felt like she was being washed away on a flood of tears. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, she was frozen, ice cold, blind and mute, swimming in a dark sea of terror and choking on her own fear. All she was conscious of was a white-hot pain burning in the center of her body. It hurt so much. She'd never felt a pain this real. She couldn't remember the last time anything had felt this real.

Nerve endings that had been numb for so long were suddenly awake to pain, blazing like thousands of minute fishhooks piercing her body. Synapses were alive and firing inside her head and every message screamed her daughter's name. It was intense, debilitating pain and terror and over it all hung a crushing sense of loss, like something inside her had been ripped away and she would never be whole again. Waves of grief washed over her and she knew she could spend the rest of her life crying and the pain would never lessen. The only thing that would heal the deep, churning ache inside her was Bonny. She needed her daughter, needed her in her arms, needed to hold her tiny, sweaty hand, needed Bonny's grubby fingers twisted in her own. She needed to hear her daughter's small, chattering voice, her shrieks of laughter, needed to see her smile. She needed to bury her face in Bonny's tangled hair and hear her breathe while she was sleeping. She needed the weight of Bonny's head on her shoulder. She needed Bonny's skinny arms wrapped tight around her waist. She needed to put her cheek next to Bonny's and whisper that she loved her, that she could never leave her behind, that is was a physical impossibility.

Finally, her tears spent themselves and slowly, wearily, Addison started the car and turned back towards Seattle.

The school was letting out as she arrived and a crowd of children swarmed over the front lawn. For an agonizing moment they all looked alike and her eyes searched the crowd almost frantically until something caught and focused her attention, the back of a little girl's head. And even though she looked like all the other little girls with brown pigtails and a pink backpack, Addison knew her instinctively. For seven years her life had orbited that little girl.

Bonny was standing a little way away with her back turned, listening as a girl Addison didn't recognize whispered something in her ear. Addison half expected her to turn around and leap into her arms but when she said her daughter's name and touched her on the shoulder Bonny simply looked up at her, blinked and said,

"Oh. My teacher said Tyler's mom was going to come get me today."

"Yes. I did ask her to do that. But I changed my mind."

Bonny frowned.

"I wanna see the baby. I wanna see Tyler's little brother."

"You can see him another time. Come on. Get in the car."

Addison was expecting some argument but Bonny instantly complied. It was something she'd noticed before. Whenever she let a hint of fatigue or despair slip into her voice, Bonny became urgently, almost desperately eager to please. She stopped complaining, stopped pressing for what she wanted and seemed almost afraid to speak. And if she looked closely Addison could see the fear etched around her daughter's eyes. Other children didn't carry that fear around their eyes, weren't subtly marked with a sign whispering that below their skin they spent their lives gripped with doubts, anxieties and uncertainties. And Addison knew that she had made her daughter that way, knew that she was the reason Bonny lived everyday in fear.

As she pulled away from the school with her daughter in the front seat behind her Addison felt tears welling in her eyes again. She could feel Bonny watching her and when they'd gone only a few blocks, pulled over, stopped the car and turned to look at her. With tears in her eyes Addison asked her daughter in a shaking voice,

"Bonny, if I decided that I didn't want to live with your father anymore, if I decided that I wanted to leave… would you come with me?"

Bonny didn't hesitate.

"I wanna come with you."

"Good." Addison felt the tears spilling down her face. She wrapped her arms around Bonny, who had already climbed into her lap and let her tears fall into her daughter's hair.

"When are we going?" she felt Bonny whisper into her ear.

"We have to go to the trailer and get your things."

"What about your things?"

"It doesn't matter."

They drove in silence, Bonny hugging her knees to her chest and watching her mother nervously. Addison felt herself growing calm, her breathing and heart rate slowly returning to normal. But when they arrived at the trailer she felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured down her spine. She froze. Derek's car was parked out front.

Bonny's eyes flew from the car to the trailer and back and she watched her mother go pale and tense.

"Dad's here."

Addison nodded. "I know. Wait here."

She slipped from the car and made her way to the trailer with her ears ringing and a cold sweat collecting on the palms of her hands and opened the door. Derek was at the kitchen table with his head in his hands but he looked up when she came in, his faced tired and haggard and his eyes red rimmed. For a moment he sat at the table, staring at her, while she stood frozen by the door. Then he rose, crossed the room in two steps and wrapped her in his arms.

"I thought you were gone." His voice shook and he cradled her head against his shoulder and buried his face in her hair. Addison's arms hung uselessly at her sides and she felt all the words she needed to say catching in her throat.

"Derek, I…"

"Shhhhh. It's okay. I'm not ready to stop fighting for us, Addison."

"I need…"

"I wont let go."

Addison stood helpless in Derek's arms as he stroked her hair and whispered into her ear. She didn't have the strength to pull away. Finally Derek leaned back and tilted her face up to his.

"Where's Bonny?"

"In the car."

Derek nodded, "Wait here," and kissed her softly on the lips. He slipped out of the trailer and Addison fell back against the wall, sighed and sank to the floor.


	17. Guernica

**Warning: This chapter is rated a strong NC-17. This is your last chance not to read it.**

Chapter Seventeen: Guernica

Addison lay on the floor curled in a ball and staring straight ahead. She listened as a car door opened and shut outside and then watched Derek's feet enter the trailer, heard him close and lock the door beside her head and watched as Bonny's feet touched down on the floor in front of her. She let Derek lift her in his arms and carry her to bed like a little child, let him take off her shoes and tuck her under the sheets and sit beside her and stroke her hair but she didn't look at him. She didn't stop staring straight ahead. Bonny came and sat on the bed beside her and Addison didn't look at her either but reached blindly for her hand and clung to it desperately.

Derek got up and went into the kitchen and Addison heard him taking pots and pans down from cupboards and running water and chopping something on a cutting board and heating oil till it sizzled. Bonny leaned close to her ear and whispered,

"Are we still going to go?" and Addison pulled her closer, buried her face in her hair and sighed,

"I'm tired Bonny. I'm so tired."

Bonny gently put her arms around her mother's neck and they stayed like that, side by side on the bed, wrapped in each other's arms until Derek took Bonny away to feed her dinner and put her to bed. He left a plate of food next to Addison but she rolled over and went back to staring at the wall.

Later Derek came back and took away the untouched food and Addison listened to him in the kitchen again, washing dishes. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling and when Derek crawled into bed beside her she continued to stare and held perfectly still and he didn't reach out to touch her but simply switched off the light and lay on his back on his side of the bed as well.

Addison continued to stare at the ceiling, keeping her eyes open against the darkness in the trailer. She lay awake for hours listening to Derek's breathing growing deeper and slower beside her until it was so soft she could hear Bonny sleeping on the other side of the trailer. Then she quietly slipped out of bed and crept across the darkened room.

Bonny stirred but didn't wake when she touched her lightly on the shoulder so she leaned over and whispered in her ear,

"Bonny, wake up."

Bonny grumbled but her eyelids fluttered open. Addison pressed a finger to her lips.

"Shhh. I need you to be really quiet, Bonny." She could barely hear her own voice over the sound of her heart pounding in her chest. "I need you to get up and put on your coat without making any noise."

They moved silently, afraid to whisper to one another or even breathe. Addison was kneeling, trying to button Bonny's coat with shaking fingers when she heard Derek stir and tumble out of bed.

"Addison?"

Her heart leapt into her throat and she instinctively snatched her keys from the kitchen counter and pressed them into Bonny's hands.

"Go get in the car."

Bonny didn't move. Frantically, Addison pushed her towards the door, stood and whirled around to face Derek. He blinked at her, an expression of bleary smeared across his face and then the lines around his eyes softened and he stepped towards her, arms outstretched. She froze.

Derek wrapped her in his arms, held her gently against his chest and whispered, "Addison, it's the middle of the night. What are you doing?"

She forced out the words that had lodged in her throat. They came out in a pleading whisper.

"Please let me go."

"Addison, come back to bed." Derek's arms tightened around her and she felt a bubble of panic rise in her throat. She shook her head and raised one hand to push futilely against his chest, trying to twist her body away. And when she turned she saw Bonny standing mute and still by the door, her wide, eyes fixed unblinking on her parents.

"Bonny, I said get in the car!"

"Bonny, stay there." Derek carefully held her twisting body still against his own and tilted her face up to his. "Addison, you need to calm down. Bonny, go get back in bed."

Bonny stayed rooted to the spot and Addison continued to struggle, weakly twisting and trying to pull away from Derek's strong, gentle, immobilizing grip. A string of whispered pleas tumbled from her mouth.

"Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. Let me go." She could hear the panic rising in her voice, could feel her breath getting shallower and the strength draining from her arms and legs. Soon her struggles died down into hysterical sobbing and Derek loosened his grip, rubbed circles on her back and said over her shoulder to Bonny,

"Come on, time to get back in bed."

Addison felt hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Her breath caught in her throat and a strangled cry tore itself from her lungs.

"Bonny, I said get in the fucking car!"

She tore herself out of Derek's arms and as she violently twisted free she felt a wrenching pain in her elbow as her left arm stayed, caught at the wrist, in Derek's strong grip. She looked down and saw her arm dangling uselessly between the two of them, saw her wrist, where Derek's fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving angry, purple bruises. She tugged once, feebly and a wave of pain and nausea swept over her and forced her to her knees. She heard Derek's voice, faint and distant behind the ringing in her ears, sensed him leaning over her, and, with the last of her energy, swung her right hand, blindly, desperately upwards. She felt a sharp stinging in her fingertips and heard the slap of skin on skin as her palm connected with Derek's face.

He dropped her wrist immediately and she looked up and watched a trickle of blood creep slowly down from the split in his lip and over his unshaven chin. As she watched his eyes slowly darkened and as they grew cold and hard as ice his right hand, the one that had printed bruises on her wrist seconds earlier, rose high above his head.

She couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't raise her arms to shield her face. She could only squeeze her eyes tight shut against the blow before his fist landed on her temple, set off an explosion of white light behind her eyes and knocked her sprawling on the kitchen floor. Before she could even lift her hear off the linoleum she felt ten hard fingers dig into her shoulders and drag her to her feet. Another blow lit up the inside of her head. Again, Derek's fingers dug into her and dragged her to her feet. Her knees buckled and the world reeled around her as his strong hands dug into her shoulders and he lifted her off the ground, shaking her savagely.

Her vision blurred and faded until all she could see were his shining, white teeth snarling at her and his red blood on his lips and his right hand rising again to deliver a blow that knocked the lights inside her head into darkness and launched her sideways into the kitchen table. The sharp edge caught her in the side, cracking against her ribs, before it crashed to the floor with her, spilling a cascade of paperwork across the cold, hard tile. Through the darkness she heard high-pitched screams of pure, animal terror echoing through the trailer in Bonny's voice.

And as a dull, hard, everywhere-at-once pain settled into her bones and a needle-sharp pain bore into her head she heard Derek's footsteps shuffle the papers that littered the floor around her as they passed, heard him stumble past his still screaming daughter and out into the night. She heard him slam the door shut behind him. And then, faintly, behind Bonny's screams she heard him start his car and drive away.

Then the screams died down to breathless, gulping sobs and disappeared completely and all that was left was darkness and the ringing in her ears.


	18. Odalisque

A/N: To the person who wondered about the titles… Yes, some of them are about art. It's pretentious, I know. But it makes if more fun for me, so I'm going to continue to indulge myself.

**Chapter Eighteen: Odalisque**

Since the birth of her second son, Miranda Bailey had re-adjusted herself to having her sleep interrupted at all hours, although she seemed to remember Tyler disturbing her nights somewhat less than the new baby, Isaac did. He'd moved into a crib in his own room down the hall by now but Miranda still slept lightly, expecting to be woken by his mewling cries at least once or twice a night.

She did not, however, expect to be woken by the sound of her doorbell ringing at four in the morning. Jolted from sleep by the sudden noise, she sat up in bed and, after a minute's consideration, shook her husband, who was the heavier sleeper, awake.

"Tuck, someone just rang the doorbell."

Her husband grumbled but sat up, rubbing his face. "Miranda, it's the middle of the night."

"It's four in the morning and I know what I heard."

Tucker rubbed his face again and sighed before heaving himself out of bed and pulling a faded "Sea Hawks" sweatshirt over his head.

"Alright, I'll go look."

Miranda followed him, throwing a bathrobe over her pajamas and stepping carefully to avoid tripping over any baby items that might be scattered on the floor.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs the doorbell rang again and Miranda hung back and watched as her husband opened the door a crack, mumbling, "Who's there?" as he did so, his deep voice still thick from sleep. She leaned forward to see beyond him, and strained her ears to hear the reply, but before she could make anything out Tucker was pulling the door open and exclaiming, "Oh my God. What happened?" and stammering, "Come on… Come on inside." And, past her husbands broad back, Miranda saw, first, Bonny Shepard, barefoot and dressed in pajamas and an unbuttoned jacket and then, leaning heavily on her daughter and ducking her head so that all that was visible was a curtain of red hair matted with blood, Addison.

For a moment Miranda could do nothing but stand and stare. And then her surgeon's brain kicked in. She turned to her husband, standing helplessly by the door with a stricken look on his face that implored her to tell him what to do, and said the first words that came into her head,

"Go to the bathroom and get out the first-aid kit and some clean towels and fill the sink with warm water."

When he had gone she turned back to Addison and Bonny.

They stood in the middle of the hallway, clinging to one another, Bonny's eyes wide and her entire body rigid with terror, Addison hanging her head and sagging in her daughter's arms as if she were about to faint.

Miranda stepped hesitantly forward. She was fairly certain she knew what was going on. She'd seen women shrink and try to hide their faces at the hospital often enough to know what it was a sign of. She knew how to approach those frightened strangers, knew how to make them feel safe, but when the victim was a woman she knew personally all the protocol she'd internalized fell flat. She was afraid to touch Addison or speak too loudly or get too close, afraid the other woman would shatter. Finally, she approached Bonny, knelt down in front of her and whispered,

"Honey, what happened?"

Bonny's eyes darted from her still, silent mother to Miranda. She gulped, blinked back tears and then whispered in a small, trembling voice,

"He hit her."

Miranda nodded and pulled Bonny into her arms. She stroked the little girl's hair and rocked her and felt the tiny body in her arms shake with sobs.

"Shhhhh, Bonny. It's going to be alright." She felt like she needed the reassurance as much as the frightened little girl did. She needed to hear from someone, even if it was her self, that things would be okay, that she had the power to make things okay. Because for the first time, since becoming a doctor, Miranda felt like maybe she didn't.

Addison moved like a ghost. She followed Miranda wordlessly into the bathroom and sat where she was told to, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at the floor. Miranda set Bonny down and approached her mother carefully. She reached out to brush the curtain of hair away from Addison's face and gasped.

Dark bruises blossomed across pale, white skin. The side of Addison's face was stained with them. On her forehead crusted stripes of red-brown, dried blood from some cut above her hairline painted a pattern of thin vertical lines and matted in her eyebrow. On her split and swollen lip the blood was still fresh and red. But the damage was more than superficial. Starring out at her from purple eye sockets, Addison's wounded eyes spoke of bottomless pain and fear.

Miranda sighed. Repairing that hurt would take kindness and time and the sooner she began, the better. She dipped a clean cloth into the basin of warm water and gently dabbed at the dried blood caked on Addison's forehead. Soon the water in the sink was tinted red. Miranda continued her careful ministrations, slowly, painstakingly, stopping whenever Addison flinched or gasped in pain. She cleaned the blood from her face and hair, found the cut it had originated from and examined it. It wasn't deep. Her fingers probed the bruises over Addison's cheekbones, feeling for broken bones. As softly as she could manage with hands accustomed to performing the most delicate surgeries she peeled back Addison's eyelids and peered into those tortured eyes, checking the pupils for signs of concussion. Addison submitted to it all without complaint. Quickly stifled whimpers were Miranda's only indication of whether or not she was inflicting pain.

For what seemed like hours she tended to Addison's cuts and bruises under an oppressive silence. The same mute, slowly subsiding terror that hung over Addison and Bonny, who stood watching in the corner, began to settle on her as well. She stopped prodding Addison with gentle questions hoping for a whispered response. She stopped expecting Addison to speak. She stopped prefacing her actions with a verbal warning. There were no words for this situation, no descriptions, no explanations. She had only her sense of touch and her intuition with which to feel out the depth and scope of the damage and discover new injuries.

She stripped off Addison's shirt and underneath it her left elbow was rigid and swollen, sprained, possibly broken. There were finger marks up and down her arms.

Addison's side was a horrible shade of deep throbbing purple and so swollen Miranda was almost afraid to touch it.

Addison's hips were dappled with fading, yellow bruises, a testament to weeks of abuse.

Addison was thin. Too thin. Wasted. Bones that shouldn't be visible bulged just beneath the surface of her skin. Ribs, vertebrae, collarbones, all stood out in sharp relief. Her skeletal hands and feet looked exaggerated, oversized, almost clownish, at the ends of her fragile limbs.

Miranda shuddered. The woman in front of her was little more than a tight ball of skin, bones and pain, hunching over and hugging her knees and staring out at the world with deep, sad, frightened eyes. It broke Miranda's heart. And just as she felt tears pricking her eyelids, Addison spoke, her voice a pleading, heart-wrenching whisper,

"Do I have to go the hospital?"

"Not tonight. I'll take you for x-rays tomorrow. Right now you need to sleep."

She helped Addison stand and wrapped her in her bathrobe. Bonny stepped forward from the corner and attached herself to her mother's side. They climbed the stairs slowly to accommodate Addison's weary, limping steps and Miranda led the way to the spare bedroom. Tucker had made the beds and laid out a pair of Tyler's pajamas for Bonny and a pair of his own for Addison. While Bonny dressed herself Miranda helped Addison into the pajamas, which hung loose around her frail body but were better than anything of her own would have been on the taller woman.

She helped Addison settle into bed, careful of her bruises and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. Bonny climbed into bed beside her mother and gingerly put her arms around her neck and before Addison buried her face in her daughter's hair Miranda thought she saw tears glimmering in her eyes. As she left the room and pulled the door shut behind her she caught a last glimpse of Addison and Bonny clinging to each other, in a desperate, heart-broken embrace.

There was no point in trying to go back to bed now. Tyler would be awake soon and she would have to explain what was going on to him. The baby would probably wake up shortly afterwards. It was early morning, too early to phone in to Bonnny's school but she took the cordless phone into the living room, sat down and dialed the familiar number of the Seattle Grace Chief of surgery and asked to be put through.

Richard answered immediately and she heard a note of panic in his voice before he even finished a sentence.

"Make it quick, Miranda. I don't have time… Addison and Bonny are missing."

"I know. They're here."

"Oh, thank God."

"Chief, she's hurt. He beat her."

"I know." Richard's voice was sad and weary. "I got a call from the police station. Derek turned himself in but by the time they got out to the trailer, there was no one there. Is she alright?"

"Bruises. Cuts. Maybe a broken elbow. They're scared. They're both scared."

Richard sighed.

"I've known Addison since before Bonny was born. I don't understand. Why wouldn't she come to me? Why wouldn't she ask me for help?"

It was the same question that had been hanging in the back of Miranda's mind all night.

"I don't know, Chief. I just don't know."


	19. The Sleep of Reason Begets Nightmares

A/N: Another chapter! There are probably only one or two left…

Please give me reviews.

**Chapter Nineteen: The Sleep of Reason Begets Nightmares**

Bonny watched her mother, sitting across the Tyler's mom's dinner table from her, with her arm in a cast and bandages on her lip and bruised cheek. Her mother stared down at her untouched plate of food and didn't eat anything and seemed to feel the all the eyes around the table fixed on her and shrink and disappear into herself. Like Bonny, Tyler's mom was watching. She looked sad and tired. And Tyler's dad looked scared and tired. And Tyler just looked scared. Even the baby, Isaac was quiet. But nobody looked more sad or scared or tired than Bonny's mother.

That morning Bonny had watched her mother sleeping. Her eyelashes were damp and clumpy from crying and they fluttered against her cheeks. She was probably having a nightmare. There were so many things to have nightmares about.

Bonny could still remember some of the wild and terrifying things she had dreamed when she was still a little girl. Two-headed dogs tearing each other to pieces in back alleys. Men with no faces brandishing long, sharp knives. Bright red squid tentacles reaching up from the sea and dragging her under the water. Those things were all scary. But they were old nightmares and none of them were real. The most horrible, terrifying nightmares had begun recently and they were about the things that actually existed, things that didn't go away when you woke up.

Now Bonny had those nightmares all the time. Every night her father bared her mother's long, white arms and plunged syringes of anesthetic into her veins until she died of an overdose. Or her mother took a needle and thread and slowly stitched her own lips shut. Or masked doctors tied Bonny to an operating table and cut off her hands. And every morning when she woke up, panting and bathed in cold, clammy seat, the nightmares were still there. They were harder to see and easier to ignore in the daylight but they were always there, just like the bruises on her mother's arms were always there, even if they both pretended not to see them.

But now the bruises were everywhere. Her mother's sleeping face was smeared with blacks, blues, reds and purples that were impossible to ignore. It hurt Bonny just to look at them. But when she closed her eyes the things she saw were even more terrible. She saw her father hitting her mother. She saw his fists flying through the air again and again. She saw her mother crashing into the kitchen table and sliding to the floor and lying there horribly still. She saw the drops of blood left spattered on the kitchen floor when her mother slowly, painfully dragged herself to her feet. Bonny squeezed her eyes shut tighter and shook her head and tried not to see. But it was no use. The nightmares still played over and over again behind her eyelids. And Bonny knew that even if everything somehow turned out alright, those nightmares might never go away.

She wanted to cry. She wanted someone to hug her and kiss her and tell her that everything would be alright. She wanted to be a little baby again, sleeping safely in her mother's arms. But her mother was too hurt and Bonny was afraid to snuggle close to her as the slept, afraid that if she reached out to touch her she would only cause more pain.

So she lay on her side and watcher her mother sleeping, watched the little tremors of pain and fear that crept across her face as she slept. She knew her mother wouldn't want her to see that so when she saw her starting to wake up she quickly closed her eyes and stilled her breath and pretended she was sleeping. She heard her mother gasp as she started to feel the pain of her cuts and bruises again and she heard her take shaky breaths as she struggled not to cry and she lay still and didn't open her eyes until she knew her mother was ready to face her. When she did look up her mother's face was very close to hers and there were tears dangling on her eyelashes.

"Does it hurt?"

"Only a little bit." Her mother tried to smile but Bonny knew she was lying and she felt tears pricking her own eyes as her mother reached out and stroked her cheek and looked at her sadly and finally leaned her forehead against hers and very quietly whispered,

"I'm sorry. Last night… I wish you didn't have to see that."

"It's not your fault." Bonny swallowed her tears. Crying wouldn't make anything any better.

"I'm still sorry."

Very carefully Bonny crawled into her mother's arms and did her best to hug her without hurting her and let her mother hold her and stroke her face and cry into her hair and whisper, 

"I'm sorry. I'm going to get better, I promise. We're going to be okay."

But even though her mother promised and even though they were promises Bonny wanted to hear, she didn't feel any better. She knew that when a person makes a promise like that, even if they mean it with all their heart, that promise can still be impossible to keep. And she knew her mother knew it too. They might never be okay. She closed her eyes and curled into her mother's embrace and breathed in the scent of her hair and tried not to think about the future.

Late that day they went to the hospital and her mother didn't take her eyes off the floor and didn't say a word the whole time they were there. Tyler's mother did the talking.

Her mother was x-rayed and the x-rays showed broken bones and doctors found the breaks and set the bones and wrapped everything in bandages and plastic casts. They said everything would be better in six weeks but Bonny knew better. In six weeks her mother's broken bones would be healed and the bruises would be long gone, but everything would not be better. It wasn't that easy.

Everyone sat in front of their plates and all they eyes around the table stared at Bonny's mother. Except for the baby, fussing in his father's arms, everyone was very quiet. Bonny stirred her food around her plate and watched as Tyler tried not to feel guilty about eating his dinner and Tyler's dad tried to get the baby to settle down. She didn't want to look at her bruised and broken mother, sitting straight and still in her chair, didn't want to watch her refuse to touch her food and sink deeper into the oppressive silence that hung over the table. Tyler gulped down the last of his dinner and quickly got up from his place, followed by his father with the baby. Tyler's mom stayed at the table and Bonny did too even though she wasn't hungry and the food just made lumps in her throat. It was too quiet. Bonny wanted to smash her plate just because it would make some noise.

Finally her mother looked up at her, took a shaky breath and said very quietly,

"Eat your food, don't play with it."

Bonny glanced at her mother's own untouched plate of food and didn't know what to say. But Tyler's mom put her hand on Bonny's mother's shoulder and said softly,

"What about you, Addison? I think you should eat something."

Bonny's mother shook her head.

"I'm not hungry."

Bonny wanted to scream.

Tyler's mom sighed. Then she looked Bonny's mother in the eye and said very gently,

"I know you need to feel like you're in control right now, Addison. But starving yourself is not the way to do that."

Bonny saw her mother's lip tremble. Then, so slightly it was barely visible, she nodded.

"I know. It's just…hard."

Tyler's mom nodded.

"It will get easier. I promise. It's going to get better, Addison."

Bonny ached for those words to be true. She wanted this horrible nightmare to be over. She wanted to wake up and see her mother smiling. She wanted to feel safe and secure and happy again. And more than anything, she wanted things to go back to the way they were when she was little. She wanted to know for certain that her mother loved her and would keep on loving her forever and that nothing bad could ever happen to either of them.

But it just wasn't true. There was no way to go back. Nothing would ever be the same. All she could do as she lay awake in bed surrounded by nightmares was burry her face in her mother's hair and breathe deep and try to forget all the horrible things that had happened and were still happening and try to hope that when she woke up tomorrow things would be a little bit better.


	20. Don't Appologize

A/N: Here it is. One more chapter to go. Reviews please.

Chapter 20: Don't Appologize

Meredith Grey picked nervously at the hem of her sweater. She wasn't sure why she was here. She shouldn't be here. It was awkward and inappropriate to be here. It made her feel twelve years old. Bailey was her boss and Addison was Bailey's boss and Derek's wife and everything was so complicated. There was absolutely no good reason for her to be standing here, on Bailey's front porch, picking at her sweater and trying to get up the nerve to ring the doorbell. She took a deep breath, forced herself to stop fidgeting, counted backwards from ten, finally made up her mind, reached forward, pressed the doorbell and instantly regretted it. She briefly contemplated running back to her car before anyone answered the door but decided it was probably a better idea to just stay put and see what happened. Sort of like a normal adult would do.

Half a minute later Bailey answered the door with a baby and a pile of blankets in her arms. She arched her eyebrows, clearly surprised to see one of her interns standing on her front porch on a Saturday morning while she was supposed to be on maternity-leave. But, a moment later, she smiled. Or at least looked a little less grumpy, which was the Bailey-equivalent of a smile.

"Can I help you, Grey?"

Meredith stammered and choked on her words and finally managed to stutter,

"Addison? Is she here? Can I talk to her?"

Bailey sighed.

"Grey, it's not up to me who Addison talks to. She's in the family room. You can ask her yourself but…"

Meredith nodded and winced as the baby started to squirm in Bailey's arms and opened his throat, preparing to unleash a scream. He could probably sense that she was about to do something stupid and felt he should voice his disapproval. Or maybe he just didn't like her. Babies hated her. She managed to smile nervously before hurrying down the hallway in the direction Bailey had indicated she would find the family room. The baby started to wail behind her and Meredith quickened her pace to escape the sound. Crying babies had always made her anxious and she couldn't afford to be any more anxious at the moment than she already was.

The family room was at the bottom of a flight of steps near the end of the hallway. Meredith recognized the sound of Saturday morning cartoons floating up the stairs and every now and then she heard children laughing. For a minute she hung back on the landing and listened, hoping to delay entering the room and making her presence known to Addison. She was afraid to face the other woman. After everything that had happened, she was afraid of what she might see in Addison's eyes. Finally, when it started to feel unbearably awkward and creepy to be lurking at the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath, cautiously went down the stairs and entered the family room.

Three pairs of eyes immediately flew at her and caught her at the bottom of the stairs. Tyler Bailey's soft, brown eyes glanced up momentarily before he shrugged and went back to his Fruit-Loops. Bonny fixed her in a blue gaze for a little longer than Tyler before her attention was drawn back to the television. And, from a seat on the sofa, Addison, huddled in blankets with her legs curled under her and one hand absently stroking her daughter's hair, stared across the room at her with dark eyes that communicated none of the hatred and anger that Meredith had expected to see but only mild confusion, deep sadness and a touch of something between shame and fear. These eyes were ringed with bruises that, although they were beginning to yellow and fade, still screamed accusations at Meredith. She suddenly felt that standing here, in this room, at this moment was very wrong. More wrong than anything else she had done to Addison. She suddenly felt that just looking at Addison was a violation worse than adultery. She was the last person Addison would want to see after… what had happened. The things that had happened to Addison, the things Derek had done to her, were supposed to be private. They were the sort of terrible secret that Addison would want to keep carefully, painfully hidden from the world, and, most of all, from Meredith. And here she was witnessing the evidence. She felt that just by looking at the bruises that darkened Addison's face, she was committing another crime against her, when all she had come to do was try, somehow, hopelessly, to make the past crimes right.

From some far off room in Bailey's house Meredith heard the baby scream, undercutting the terrible silence that hung in the air. She winced and bit her lip, then clumsily blurted out,

"I'll go if you want me to. I just… wanted to talk to you."

"Oh."

Addison spoke slowly. Her voice was flat, emotionless. If anything she sounded tired. Not even a little surprised.

"If you don't want to it's…"

"It's alright."

Meredith wondered if Addison even realized she was allowed to say no. But she nodded and edged towards the stairs anyway, hoping Addison would follow her. Slowly, Addison lifted herself off the couch, stopping to tuck the blankets around Bonny and Tyler and whisper to her daughter,

"Wait here. I'll be back in a minute. It's okay."

Then she nervously, hesitantly followed Meredith up the stairs and into the hallway. The baby was still crying somewhere within ear-shot and the hallway didn't seem like an appropriate place to be having this conversation so Meredith kept walking, stammering something about sitting down in the kitchen, to which Addison didn't reply. Meredith winced to herself because clearly, she was going about this all wrong. If there even _was_ a right way to go about this, she was probably as far as she could possibly be from whatever that right way was. So by the time she was seated across the kitchen table from Addison, Meredith was even more nervous and embarrassed than she'd been when she first arrived. But there were really no more excuses for not saying what she'd come to say, so she forced herself to look directly into Addison's sad eyes and say, in the steadiest voice she could manage,

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

She meant it form the bottom of her heart. Meredith was used to feeling intimidated by Addison. It was almost automatic. But the woman sitting across the table from her was anything but intimidating. She was thin, white, battered and fragile. Meredith looked at her and saw none of the strength she'd come to associate with Addison. She looked so _different_. And Meredith couldn't help feeling she'd played a part in that. All the complicated emotions she'd once associated with Addison had been replaced by pity, pity and guilt and regret.

Addison was silent, staring at the hands on the table top, and Meredith felt compelled to keep talking. She wasn't sure what she was trying to say but she felt like she had to offer some explanation and the words poured out.

"I don't know why I kept taking him back. I was just… I couldn't figure out what he saw in me. And then you were here. And you were so… _perfect_. And I was just… _me_. And Derek…"

At the sound of his name Addison winced, a flicker of fear rippling across her face.

Meredith shook her head.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Addison sighed in her flat, emotionless voice. "Don't apologize, Meredith. None of this is your fault."

She laid her arms on the table and dispassionately rolled up her sleeves, revealing one forearm cased in plaster and another covered in dark bruises.

"Look at this, Meredith. This is not your fault. He could have done the same thing to you."

Addison's voice shook, but she took a ragged breath and continued.

"No one's perfect, Meredith. Derek and I… Our marriage was in trouble long before he came to Seattle and met you. I'm sorry you got caught up in it. I should have ended it sooner, before things got so bad. I should have… I don't know… No one's perfect, Meredith. I'm not perfect… _He's _not perfect."

Meredith nodded, her eyes blurred with tears, and choked out,

"I know. He just really seemed like he was."

Addison sighed and, with the hand that wasn't in a cast, slowly rubbed her temples.

Meredith let her finish and then wiped the tears from her eyes and whispered,

"That night… when he… He came to my house at three-thirty in the morning. I didn't let him in. He was… upset. He was frantic. Then after a minute he just got in his car and drove away. I've never seen him like that before. He… scared me. I was afraid of him."

Addison sighed.

"He changed. I don't understand what happened to Derek. But I know he's not the person he was, the person I thought he was, anymore. And I know he will never be that person again. I don't know what else to say to you."

Meredith nodded.

"I just thought that you should know."

Addison didn't respond. She sat at the table, staring at her hands, and Meredith couldn't think of anything to do but get up and leave. As she went into the hall she came face to face with Bonny, who shot her a fierce glare before slipping into the kitchen and climbing onto her mother's lap. As she pulled on her coat Meredith watched them out of the corner of her eye, Addison, with her chin resting on Bonny's head, staring into space, lost in thought, and Bonny, with her arms around her mother's neck, occasionally shooting suspicious glances in Meredith's direction.

Before she left the house Meredith whispered one more time,

"I'm sorry."

She doubted anyone had heard her.

But she _was_ sorry. Sorry because she had played a part in the destruction of a family. Sorry because people had been hurt so badly. Sorry because there was nothing she could do to help. And most of all, sorry because for her it was all over and she could begin to move on with her life, while Addison and Bonny were still living a nightmare that was far from over. The painful process of rebuilding their lives had only just begun.


	21. La Primavera

Chapter 21: La Primavera

Miranda sighed and jiggled baby Isaac on her hip. Her new son was a cutie, with soft, brown eyes and chubby cheeks and a perfect little bow-shaped mouth but she just didn't have the energy to deal with a fussy infant right now. For the past three weeks the burden of caring for her little baby and running a household with not only her own family members but also an additional two people who needed and depended on her under the roof had fallen heavily upon her. And while Miranda knew she was equal to the challenge, it still didn't stop her from falling into bed every night with limbs heavy with fatigue and a heart heavy with sadness. Her husband did his best to help her but he had to be at work at nine o'clock every morning and he needed a decent night's sleep. There was only so much he could do in the hours he was home and so many times he could hold her close in the dark and whisper that everything would be alright while she unburdened herself sharing her worries and cares.

_"She doesn't seem to be getting any better. She's so quiet. Bonny too. I try, Tucker. I try so hard. But nothing I do seems to help at all."_

Her husband's gentle replies were reassuring.

_"I think you're helping, Miranda. I think just knowing you're there for her, knowing you'll support her, has got to help. But it's going to take time. You have to trust that things will get better in time."_

But although she knew he was right, it didn't lift her sorrow or make her feel like she couldn't somehow be helping _more_. Miranda was used to quick fixes: cut, close, suture. It was hard, _so hard_ to watch Addison and Bonny suffer day after day and hardly see any signs that things were getting better. On any given day, something as small as the hint of a smile in the corner of Bonny's mouth or even so much as a moment of eye contact from Addison might be the only sign that slowly, painfully, Addison and Bonny were beginning to heal.

Addison had started washing her hair again. And Miranda has stopped worrying about leaving her alone in the bathroom. Her stomach no longer lurched at the thought of Addison behind a locked door with a shaving razor. Bonny was sleeping through the night now. The nightmares that had woken her screaming for the first week in the guest room had lessened and lost some of their intensity. And both mother and daughter seemed to have regained as healthy an appetite as could be expected, given the circumstances. That alone was cause for relief. Addison was still almost as thin as she'd been three weeks ago but at least she was eating and her skin was a healthier colour than the sickly white it had been when she'd arrived on Miranda's doorstep in the middle of the night. Still, in spite of these improvements, Addison and Bonny had a long was to go.

Their silence had descended on the house and despite the baby, who could be counted on to make a decent amount of noise, it was still more quiet than Miranda was used to. Her older son seemed to realize instinctively that the television should be kept at a low volume and that he should refrain from running and yelling inside the house if at all possible. She and her husband had begun to speak in muted whispers that mirrored the few verbalizations that Addison and Bonny ever made. Even with each other Miranda wasn't sure they did much talking and the most she'd witnessed pass between them in her presence were a few whispers. They seemed to communicate wordlessly, in a language of touches and glances she was incapable of understanding. All it took was a flicker of eye contact to draw Bonny into Addison's arms where she might spend the entire afternoon wrapped in her mother's silent embrace. It was both touching and heartbreaking to witness. Addison could sit and stroke her daughter's hair and stare into space for hours, silent, unreachable, cloaked in solitude and cut off from the world. In the past three weeks Miranda hadn't seen her smile. In fact, she'd hardly seen her _react_ to anything except her daughter.

Miranda sighed and jiggled baby Isaac on her hip. He was not in the mood to settle down for his nap and she had to have dinner on the table for five people some time in the next couple of hours. Her husband wasn't home from work yet, her son wasn't interested in entertaining his younger brother and Addison had spent the afternoon in suspended animation on the couch in the family room.

Still it couldn't hurt to ask. Miranda was pretty exasperated with her youngest at the moment and recently she'd noticed that Bonny at least seemed to be taking an interest in the baby. While her daughter approached Isaac and whispered a few questions Addison had merely watched sadly from across the room. Miranda had held her son and explained to Bonny that sometimes he cried because he didn't have any other way to express himself but singing Stevie Wonder songs usually seemed to calm him down. Addison had seemed to listen but had also kept her distance. Still, those few moments of attention were more interest than she'd shown in anything else in the past three weeks and with that in mind Miranda hoisted her son in her arms and went in search of the other woman.

She found Addison in the family room. Bonny was sprawled on the floor with some paper and box of crayons, colouring aimlessly and Addison was watching her, perched on the couch in the same position Miranda had seen her in hours previous. She blinked as Miranda approached and gingerly rubbed her temples.

Without asking, Miranda leaned forward and deposited her baby in Addison's arms. For a moment the other woman flinched and shrunk away from the wriggling body pressed against her but after a minute her shoulders relaxed and her arms curved to cradle the child almost automatically. She glanced from Isaac to Miranda with a hint of uncertainty still visible in her sad, blue eyes but Miranda only nodded.

"Just hold him for a while, Addison. Until he falls asleep. You're not going to hurt him. He likes it if you hold him loose enough so he can look around a little and…"

"Stevie Wonder," Addison whispered. "I know."

Miranda smiled. "So you'll be okay?"

Addison nodded hesitantly. "I just… I don't get to hold very many healthy babies."

Miranda thought she caught just the hint of a nervous smile in the corner of Addison's mouth as she spoke and she smiled herself as she left the room. Those few words Addison had spoken to her were more than Miranda had heard out of the other woman's mouth over the last three weeks and as she glanced back into the room she saw Addison gently stroke Isaac's hair and lean down to whisper something into his tiny ear. Maybe it would be easier for her to connect with another human being who wasn't capable of answering her back. Miranda felt like she'd tried just about everything else to draw Addison out of her silence. Spending a few hours holding a happy, health baby certainly couldn't hurt.

Bonny put down her crayons and watched her mother holding Tyler's baby brother instead. The baby stretched out his fat little hand and tried to catch hold of her mother's shiny red hair. Her mother let him tug on a handful and stuff it into his mouth and when he wrinkled his nose and tried to spit it out her mother's nose wrinkled too and the corner of her mouth quirked up into a slight smile. Bonny hadn't seen her mother smile in so long. And when the baby put all of his own fat fingers into his mouth and grinned her mother's smile got wider and she got those crinkles in the corners of her eyes that happened when she laughed. People always thought it was cute when babies did things like that.

Bonny liked baby Isaac. And she _did_ think he was cute. But watching her mother hold him and smile at him and laugh at him made her wish he would go chew on his own mom's hair. Then her mother looked up at her and even though her eyes turned sad for a minute, the smile was still on her lips and Bonny forgot about everything else. Because she hadn't seen her mother smile in so long and it had been even longer sing her mother had smiled _at her_.

Her mother tilted her head and Bonny went over and sat on the couch beside her and put her head on her shoulder and watched her rub the baby's stomach until he started to fall asleep. He yawned a funny, little baby yawn and Bonny and her mother both chucked very quietly. Then her mother stroked Isaac's hair, looked up at Bonny and said,

"I can teach you to hold him, if you want. Come here."

Bonny scooted closer and her mother put the warm, heavy baby into her arms.

"His neck isn't very strong yet so you have to support his head."

"Like that?"

"Yeah. That's good."

Bonny concentrated on supporting the baby's head and her mother say beside her and put her arm around her and stroked her hair. The were quiet for a very long time. Isaac fell asleep in Bonny's arms and she gave him back to her mother.

"He's so little."

"He looks little, but he's actually pretty big for his age." Her mother held Isaac close and rocked him gently. She looked happier than Bonny had seen her in a long time.

Bonny rested her chin on her mother's shoulder and whispered,

"Mommy, are you ever going to have another baby?"

Her mother sighed.

"I don't think so." Her eyes were sad again. "Babies need a lot of love, Bonny."

"Yeah."

"And it's really hard to be a mommy all by yourself. It's scary."

Bonny wondered why her mother suddenly had tears in her eyes.

"I could help you with the baby."

Her mother smiled a little and a tear rolled down her cheek.

"But _I'm _supposed to be the one who looks after _you._"

"It's okay."

"It's not okay."

Bonny leaned forward and put her arms around her mother's neck and laid her head on her mother's shoulder. She felt her mother's tears splashing the top her head.

"You're the best mommy in the world. And I don't want you to have another baby, anyway."

"I don't want another baby either," her mother's voice floated softly through her hair and whispered against her ear. "You're my baby, Bonny. I don't want anyone else to love but you."

Addison sighed and buried her face in her daughter's hair. She inhaled that smell until everything else disappeared. The weight of the baby in her arms, her own tired, aching body, the pain that still lingered in her heart, none of it mattered. All the mattered was Bonny's arms around her neck, Bonny's hair against her cheek, Bonny's breath against her shoulder and Bonny's heartbeat pressed into her side.

If she could just hold on to that…

If she could just let go of everything else…

If she could just hold on to Bonny…

If she never let her go…

_Somehow_ every thing would be alright.

_Somehow_…

_She _would be alright.

THE END.

* * *

A/N: Finally.

Please review because I have put a lot of work into this fic for the past _year _almost.


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